I Dream of Paddy
by cumberland river relic
Summary: Complete: AU: Teresa Lisbon finds a teapot on a beach. What's inside, and how will it change her life? Romance and fantasy ensue. Inspired by the TV show, "I Dream of Jeannie."
1. Some Beach

Author's notes:

The Alternative Universe fantasy/romance "I Dream of Paddy" begins as an homage to the 1960s United States TV show "I Dream of Jeannie." Events take a _Mentalist_ twist though. Are Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon a modern Jeannie and Major Nelson? You decide.

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Some Beach**

* * *

"Son of a…" Major Teresa Lisbon couldn't even complete her thought amid the whirl of chaos.

" _Lisbon, what's wrong?"_ asked Grace Van Pelt back at mission control.

Perspiration beading on her brow, Teresa stared in disbelief as one warning light after another flashed red.

"Everything."

 _How could I have come so far only to have everything fail now?_ she thought.

Fate was so cruel. Her whole mission had gone against the odds. Fighting one mishap after another since launch two weeks ago, Teresa guided her spacecraft, SD-1, on a solo mission across the void to the comet Volker 516. Once there, she had planted an explosive charge on its surface. Detonating it as she sped away, the path of the comet veered ever-so-slightly in space terms. In human terms, the story differed though. Instead of hitting Earth, Volker 516 would miss it by 27 million kilometers.

With Teresa now a global hero, SD-1 hurtled home. That's when trouble began anew. Once back within the gravitational pull of the Earth, the same electrical problems that plagued her spaceflight when SD-1 first launched returned. Her navigation system blinked on-and-off, life support sputtered, and her final rocket burn shut down a fraction of a second too soon. Any of those three problems would imperil a space flight, but taken together they spelled one word - doom.

 _Even though I won't make it home, at least I steered the comet away from it,_ she thought.

"Grace, I'm losing consciousness."

" _Don't say that, Teresa. We're doing everything we can. We'll find a way to get you back. Hang in with us._ " Grace shouted her words at her friend.

Teresa's eyes began to blur, but before she did she pressed one more button.

"I just reset the guidance system, but I doubt that will help. Don't worry, Grace. I'm at peace with what happens to me. At least the world is safe now. Tell my family and friends that I love and cherish them all. Goodbye, Grace."

" _No, Teresa, no, no. Don't give up. You've got to keep…_ "

Grace's words faded into the background and Teresa's last thoughts focused on those she'd leave behind.

Teresa awoke with a start. Where was she? Casting a glance around her, she found that she was still tethered into her seat on SD-1. Immediately she ran through her procedure to check out the spacecraft's systems. What she found depressed her. The main systems, the back-ups - everything in the SD-1 was dead. No matter how many times she ran through the start-up process, nothing worked. Even hitting the control console with her open palm only resulted in a sting to her hand. While she had somehow made it back to earth, she was lost and alone on _terra firma_ with no way to contact anyone.

With nothing else to do inside SD-1, her thoughts shifted. Peering through a window, she saw a sandy beach outside. Beyond that, ocean waves washed back and forth along the shore. Birds flew overhead, and the brilliant yellow sun lit up a bright blue sky dotted with puffy white clouds. Unstrapping herself, Teresa twisted the lock on the cabin door and shoved it open. Salty sea air overwhelmed her at first. When she poked her head outside though, the warm sunshine on her face renewed her. Fortified by curiosity if not hope, she hopped out of SD-1 and began a trek to see where she had landed.

Twenty minutes later, Teresa had her answer - an island barely bigger than a football field.

* * *

 _No radio, no food, no hope_ , she thought.

After she retrieved her backpack from the spacecraft, Teresa took a seat on a rock along the shore. How had fate taken such a nasty turn against her again? She would become a latter day Amelia Earhart, someone who disappeared without a trace. Maybe in hundreds of years someone would come across her remains and piece the story together. But what difference would that make?

She glanced at what surrounded her. Sea shells littered the beach, in the distance sea gulls flitted above the waves, and a gentle breeze jostled leaves in the trees beyond the shoreline. She took a deep breath. At least now she could inhale the freshness of sea air instead of the stale atmosphere of her cabin on SD-1. Invigorated, Teresa decided to take another stroll along the beach. Yanking off her boots, she let her toes sink into the wet sand as she made her way along. The surf waxed and waned as it wetted her feet then retreated back to the sea.

Ahead of her, sunshine reflected on something. Squinting, she saw a metal object half-buried in the sand. Every few seconds the surf surged over it then moved away.

When Teresa made her way over to the object, she bent down to inspect it. Brushing clumps of wet sand off its sides, she lifted it up. What she found was the last thing she'd expect on a desert island - a teapot.

"Well, Mr. Teapot. Fancy meeting you here. A cup of tea would be nice right now. If I only had fresh water. And a fire. And some tea bags. Oh how I wish my luck would change."

Letting her mind drift to happier times, Teresa absent-mindedly rubbed the side of the teapot. Inside something vibrated. The shock of what she felt made Teresa toss the teapot to the ground in front of her. A wisp of blue mist rose from its spout, causing her to take a step back.

At first the mist rose in a haphazard manner. Then it began to swirl into a tight cloud. Soon the cloud congealed into a shape.

With a poof, the mist changed to human form. A man. The handsomest man that Teresa had ever seen. Dressed in flowing white silk garments that hung loosely off his well-sculpted frame, he stood barefoot in the sand. Blond curls of hair accented a pair of blue-green eyes that crinkled in the bright sunlight.

The man looked around him with a sense of wonder. Then he turned his attention to Teresa. A smile broke across his face as he gawked at her, and she felt his eyes scan every inch of her body. When their eyes met, the man's expression changed from ecstatic to serious. He dropped to his knees and lowered his head.

"Yaggu berga imato kago uffta."

Teresa couldn't understand a word he said.

"Who are you?"

" _Yaggu_ berga imato kago uffta."

"What did you say?"

The man raised his eyes and met hers again. She could sense his dire need to communicate with her. He cleared his throat before speaking this time.

"Yaggu _berga_ imato kago uffta."

Teresa shook her head.

"I can't understand you."

The man stood up. Taking a step he placed himself next to her, face to face. A clean, cologne-like smell from his body tickled Teresa's nose. Leaning toward her, he placed his hand under her chin.

And he kissed Teresa like no man had ever kissed her before.

Teresa dropped her backpack behind her and surrendered to his lips.

* * *

 ** _To be continued_**

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Written by Rory Lee Feek and Paul Overstreet, Blake Shelton recorded "Some Beach" for the album _Blake Shelton's Bar & Grill_. The song title and lyrics are an English language play-on-words for the phrase that Teresa Lisbon didn't complete at the start of the chapter. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic"

Up next: "Rescue Me"


	2. Rescue Me

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 2: Rescue Me**

* * *

How long did this mystery man kiss Teresa Lisbon? She lost track. It was as if she fell under a spell that bound her in his embrace.

No one ever kissed Teresa like that before. Her soul seemed to join with this man, and she could sense an innate goodness in him. She could sense some other things in her too. A surge of passion welled inside her, and it took all her strength to quell it.

Before doing something she would regret, Teresa pushed the man back. In response, his face clouded over in shock. What did she see in his eyes? Uncertainty? Regret? Fear?

Yes, fear. She could tell that he felt just as conflicted as she did. But like her, she could also tell that he enjoyed their kiss.

The man continued to stare at her like a frightened animal. Now another emotion welled inside Teresa - she wanted to take him in her arms, tell him everything was all right, and calm the fear that shown so clearly in his eyes.

Just as she began to move her hand to touch his face, to restore the magic of the connection they had shared, the man dropped to his knees. He lowered his head, and she at once knew this man regretted what he had done.

"Yaggu berga imato kago uffta," he said with a shrill tone to his voice.

"I can't understand you, sir," Teresa said.

"Yaggu berga imato kago uffta," he said, his brow knotted in a tight clinch as he fought to make himself understood.

"I'm sorry I can't tell what you're saying."

Frustration overwhelmed Teresa. A strange man stood before her, desperate to convey his thoughts to her. Yet the only understanding they shared was in their kiss. How could Teresa reconnect with him? Well, she could kiss him again… The thought of his lips on hers once more seized her mind and wouldn't let go.

"Yaggu berga imato kago uffta." Tension etched the man's face as he clinched his hands into fists, trying by the loudness of his voice to explain himself.

"Oh, I wish you could speak the same language as me," said Teresa as despair enveloped her yet again.

"Yaggu berga imato kago uffta,…and I thank you once more Mistress for freeing me from my prison. I only wish there were some way to express myself in a way that you could understand me."

Teresa stared down at the man, her mouth agape.

"I heard what you just said."

"Yes, Mistress. I wanted you to know how much I appreciated your freeing me from…" The man stopped mid-sentence then slowly raised his eyes to meet Teresa's. "You understand me?"

"Yes, I do."

"And I understand you now." The brightest smile that Teresa had ever seen broke across the man's face and he jumped to his feet.

Before Teresa could react, the man's arms enveloped her in a vice-like embrace. Stiff? Yes. Awkward? Yes. But at the same time she could tell something else - this man appreciated her with his whole heart. The connection they shared moments before during their kiss returned. Even without their lips pressed together, Teresa's soul reached out to this stranger. In response, she did the only thing she knew to do - she patted his shoulder and hugged him back.

Soon the man broke their embrace. That look of fear returned to his eyes, and he fell to his knees again.

"I have overstepped my bounds. Please forgive me. My gratitude for your kindness overcame any sense of propriety on my part." He looked up at her, and she glimpsed the hint of a smile cross his lips. "That, and your beauty overwhelmed me. You have every right to condemn my actions, but please have mercy on me, your humble servant."

As bizarre as this situation was, something about hearing him say the word "humble" made Teresa laugh.

"'Humble'? You're humble?" she asked with a touch of skepticism.

The man shrugged his shoulders.

"Meh. I try to be, but I guess I'm a work-in-progress," he said.

Teresa laughed some more before she crossed her arms. Whatever caused her mind to hallucinate this man, at least he entertained her.

"Who are you, sir?" she asked.

"I am Paddy. I am your humb…" He looked up at her with a sheepish grin and started over. "I am your _grateful_ servant who is trying to be humble."

"Trying?"

"I am, Mistress. I seek to fulfill your every desire."

 _There's a few things I can think of in that regard,_ thought Teresa. As soon as some vivid images filled her mind, she forced them back. Looking up at Paddy, she gasped.

 _He knows what I was thinking!_

Teresa knew she must have blushed five shades of red. In response, Paddy reached over to pat her arm. At once, a warmth, the warmth of a kindred spirit, filled her being. Comfort replaced embarrassment, and Teresa relaxed. A little. _After all, he's just a figment of my imagination_ , she thought.

When the life support system on the spacecraft malfunctioned, it no doubt spewed out some mix of toxic vapors that sent her mind reeling. But why had it taken until now to affect her? Perhaps the frenzy leading up to the crash landing had kept her mind on the mission. Now that she was on a beach back on earth and doomed to die alone, why not indulge her crazed mind? If her hallucination wanted to talk, so be it. She would oblige him.

"Tell me about yourself, Mr. Paddy."

The man's brow furrowed.

"My real name is not Paddy. That's just a nickname given me by others."

"Well?" Teresa made a prompting motion with her hand.

"Well, what?" the man asked.

"Tell me your real name."

"Patrick Jane." He gave her a look that made her shiver. "You can call me Patrick."

"Okay…Patrick. Tell me about yourself."

"An evil sorcerer named Red John imprisoned me in that teapot for centuries. I waited and waited for someone to save me. And then you found and freed me. Now I am yours and yours alone." Patrick rocked back and forth on his feet as if the joy on his face had animated his whole body.

 _This is the wildest dream I've ever had,_ thought Teresa.

"Why did this Red John person imprison you?"

"I insulted him, so he killed my family - my wife and my daughter." The joy left his face, replaced by the saddest eyes she'd ever seen.

His agony pulled at her heartstrings. Now _she_ wanted to hug _him_ , but she tried to focus on finding out more. She almost felt like a detective trying to learn about a crime. Indeed, when she was growing up, she often fantasized about becoming a cop or some other law enforcement agent.

"So, why did he imprison you?"

"Because I swore vengeance against him. He could have killed me too, but he wanted me to suffer more so he cast me into the teapot."

"And you've sat in there for centuries?"

"Yes, I have. Until you found me and saved me."

"Wasn't it cramped in there for a man your size?"

"I'm not a man."

 _Well he certainly kissed like a man._

"What are you then?"

"I'm a genie." Once more Patrick rocked back-and-forth on his heels. "Because you found me, I am your genie now."

 _I didn't know my mind could be so creative._

"You're a genie? The kind that gives you three wishes?" she asked.

"Oh, no, not that kind. I give you _unlimited_ wishes."

"So I can wish for anything and you'll conjure it up for me?"

"I was an apprentice genie when Red John imprisoned me. I was still learning my craft," said Patrick.

"How about granting wishes for other people?"

Patrick shook his head.

"I obey you and no one else. Because you found me, I only serve you. You are now my mistress, and I am your humbl…I am your grateful genie."

"Nice catch," said Teresa.

"I'm learning," said Patrick. "May I ask about you, Mistress?"

 _Why not? This hallucination just gets better and better,_ thought Teresa.

"Go ahead, Patrick."

"Tell me your name."

"I'm Teresa Lisbon."

"Teresa Lisbon. That's a nice name. May I call you Teresa, Mistress?"

She figured that she would indulge her hallucination.

"You may," she said.

"What do you do, Teresa?"

"I'm an astronaut. I just returned from a mission to outer space."

Patrick's mouth formed the shape of an "O."

"You've been to the heavens? What's above the sky? What's beyond earth?" He waved his hand in the air.

"I have," she said.

"Oh what wonders you must have seen. When I was a boy I wanted to see what lay beyond this world. Everyone said the earth was flat, but I didn't believe them. Not for a minute. You must tell me of your travels. How I wish I had met you sooner so I could have journeyed with you."

His enthusiasm charmed Teresa. But the memory of her space flight brought back the cold, hard reality of her situation. Still, she indulged in the fantasy her mind had created.

"If you're my genie, then I want a wish."

"Anything. Name it."

"I want a rescue copter to pick me up."

Patrick looked perplexed.

"You want _that_ to rescue you?"

"Yes. Now get to work, Patrick."

"As you insist, Mistress."

Patrick crossed his arms, furrowed his brow, and blinked. Teresa heard a " _boink_ " noise. A growl behind her prompted her to turn around.

With a first aid kit slung across its shoulder, a giant prehistoric raptor snarled next to them on the beach. Both Patrick and Teresa ducked as its tail swished within inches of them.

"No, Patrick. I said a rescue _copter_. You know, something that flies in the air."

He shrugged his shoulders as he sighed.

"Women. You never can please them. Oh, well."

Patrick blinked again. _Boink_. The raptor disappeared, but when Teresa looked down at the sand where it had been an instant before, she now saw a huge shadow moving back-and-forth. Raising her gaze above the beach, she gasped. A pterodactyl with a wingspan longer than the island circled in the air.

"No, no, no. What kind of a genie are you, Patrick?"

"I told you, I was learning."

"I want you to conjure up a rescue _helicopter_. A flying machine filled with people who can help me get off this island."

"Oh. Now I understand," said Patrick. Planting his feet firmly in the sand, he nodded to Teresa and blinked yet again.

 _Boink_.

In the distance Teresa heard an engine. Looking in the direction that the noise came from, she saw a speck in the sky. Closer and closer it came until she could tell that it was indeed a helicopter. As it began to circle the island, she spied the logo for the Global Space Agency on copter's side.

At the same time, the communicator on her belt sprang to life as a familiar voice sounded from the speaker.

" _Teresa. Teresa. Can you hear me?_ " Grace Van Pelt called out in a pleading tone.

Teresa clicked her communicator.

"I'm here, Grace. You don't know how good it is to hear your voice."

" _Teresa. You survived."_

"I did, and I'm on an island somewhere."

" _Yeah, about that. Wayne and Kimball are on a helicopter looking for you, and they think they've spotted the SD-1. Do you see a copter anywhere?"_

Grace's husband Wayne Rigsby and his best friend Kimball Cho were fellow astronauts serving on the recovery team for the mission.

"I'm looking at it right now. It's the most welcome sight I've ever seen."

" _I'll tell 'em. They'll land soon and pick you up. The recovery ship's nearby, and Summer is on standby to examine you for any injuries."_

Summer Edgecombe, Kimball's fiance, was the space agency's doctor who tracked the health of all the astronauts. Grace finished talking with Teresa for the time being and switched to coordinating the pick-up with Wayne and Kimball. Rescue now assured, a sense of euphoria came over Teresa. Then she remembered her hallucination. Looking around, she spied Patrick standing next to her, a too-pleased-with-himself expression plastered across his face.

"Your wish granted, Mistress."

Now that reality had returned, she half-expected Patrick to vanish. Yet he hadn't. Nonetheless, her interlude with the handsome yet spectral genie must end.

"Thank you, Patrick. That helicopter is coming to pick me up in a few moments. I guess this is goodbye."

The genie's smile evaporated at once. As the corners of his mouth curved downward into a frown, his shoulders drooped and his eyes wettened.

"Goodbye? You can't leave me, Mistress. You saved me."

"I'm glad I did. And you saved me too." She nodded toward the fast-approaching helicopter. "Now it's time to let you go."

"No! I don't want you to let me go. I'm your genie, and you're my mistress. I've waited centuries for you."

Even if he wasn't real, his pleading eyes pulled at her heartstrings again. Still, she picked up the teapot and nodded at it.

"You'll be fine, Patrick."

"No, I won't. I know I'm meant to be with you."

"You're meant to have your own life."

"My life is with you. Pleeeeeeeeease, Teresa."

When he called her by her first name, Patrick tugged at her feelings even more. Yet she had to focus her thoughts on the rescue team.

"Back in the teapot. Now, Patrick." She held it up in front of her.

He blinked.

 _Boink._

He held out a carton of fresh strawberries in his hands as an offering.

"But…but…I don't have anything else to do," he said.

"In the teapot. Now."

His shoulders slumped.

"Yes, Mistress."

The dejection in his voice made her want to give in, but she stood firm. With a sigh, Patrick dissolved into a blue mist and drifted into the teapot. Teresa began to cry.

"Thank you, Patrick. I'll never forget you."

Handling the teapot as if it were made of delicate porcelain, she lowered it to the sand next to her backpack.

"Teresa? Teresa. Teresa! There you are. We thought we'd lost you." In the distance, Wayne Rigsby called to her as he and Kimball Cho sprinted along the shoreline toward her.

In response, she waved at the two men.

When Wayne and Kimball reached her, they exchanged hugs. The two men took a quick survey of the scene. Then Kimball refocused them.

"Summer's waiting on the ship for us. Let's get you there and worry about the SD-1 later."

The three colleagues got so wrapped up in Teresa's rescue that they ignored everything else. That included the teapot in the sand as it hopped once, then twice, then a third time until it plopped down inside the open compartment of Teresa's backpack.

Their brief conversation over, the group moved toward the copter. After walking a couple of minutes, Teresa stopped.

"I forgot my backpack."

Wayne patted her shoulder.

"I'll get it. You just take it easy," he said.

* * *

Teresa and Kimball resumed their walk to the helicopter while Wayne jogged back, threw the flap closed on the backpack, and slung it over his shoulder. For a instant he thought he felt something vibrate inside, but he dismissed it as his imagination. Running to catch up, he joined the others and they boarded the copter.

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Who rescued whom? Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Fontella Bass, who has been cited as one the writers of the song along with Raynard Miner and Carl William Smith, first recorded "Rescue Me" and had the greatest chart success with the song. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic"

Up next: "This Could Be the Start of Something Big"


	3. This Could Be the Start of Something Big

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 3: This Could Be the Start of Something Big**

* * *

 _3 days later at medical wing of the Global Space Agency headquarters…_

"You're in model health, Teresa," said Dr. Summer Edgecombe as she finished her exam.

Teresa Lisbon swung her legs off the examining table and sat up.

"What about the _other_ tests?"

Summer put her hands on her hips.

"The ones you wanted me to run for you incognito? You mean the ones that I'm not supposed to do without reporting them? Are those the ones you're asking about?" asked Summer.

For a moment Teresa couldn't look at her doctor.

"Well, do you have the results, Summer?"

Before answering, Summer walked to the door of the examining room, looked up and down the hallway outside, and shut the door. She turned back to Teresa and crossed her arms.

"You know I don't like doing this off-the-books stuff. We could both get in a lot of trouble. It makes me feel like I'm prostituting myself," said Summer.

"I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important."

Summer sighed.

"Yes, I got back your mental acuity tests. And the psych ones too."

"And?"

"And you're the most well-adjusted person in a high-pressure job I've ever seen." Summer stopped in front Teresa. "Something happened on your mission. Something out of the ordinary. What was it?"

Summer's words gave her an out.

"Tell me what in that two weeks of hell was _ordinary_." Teresa punctuated what she said with a forced laugh. All that did was cause Summer to glare at her more.

"Fine." Summer threw up her hands in defeat. "Be that way. You're almost as stubborn as Kimball."

When Teresa heard Summer mention Kimball, she seized on that to change the subject.

"Speaking of Kimball, have you two set a date yet?"

Mission accomplished. Summer brightened at once.

"We were talking about it the other night. We discussed February."

"February 14th, perhaps?"

"Naw. Lots of people get married on Valentine's Day. If we got married in February, we'd pick a date sometime after that."

Teresa glanced at a wall calendar in the office before she replied.

"Yeah, that makes sense. I think if I were getting married in February, I'd pick the 18th. It's four days after Valentine's Day, and people still have those good feelings left over. It'd be the icing on the cake."

A knock on the door interrupted the two women.

"Major Lisbon. Are you decent?" Wayne Rigsby's voice boomed out in a mock-serious tone on the other side of the door while Grace Van Pelt's snickers sounded beside him.

"Ha, ha. Go away," Teresa yelled back. One thing she appreciated about the astronaut corps was the camaraderie she shared with her closest friends. Most of the astronauts were like that. Well, all except one. But Teresa avoided her as much as possible.

"But there's someone coming down the hallway to see you," said Grace.

Teresa's heart fluttered, and she looked over to Summer. In response, Summer waved to her that the exam was through. As Teresa finished getting dressed, Summer tapped her arm.

"We still need to talk about why you wanted those tests, Teresa."

Teresa nodded, and she went to open the door. As anticipation welled up inside her, she tingled all over. Part of her didn't want to dwell on _who_ she wanted to be coming to see her, but she let her thoughts run wild. Opening the door, she came face-to-face with Wayne and Grace. Both sported grins, and Wayne nodded to his right. Walking out in the hallway, Teresa glanced in the direction that her friends were looking. Whom she saw coming toward her should have filled her with joy. Really, it should have. And it did. In a way. In an "I'm-supposed-to-be-happy" kind of way.

Was she supposed to look forward to being bored?

"Hey, there, Teresa," the man said. "Did you miss me these last two weeks as much as I missed you?"

"Hi," said Teresa in a tone she reserved for him. And the dry cleaners. And the dentist. And the customer service reps she talked to after waiting on hold on the phone for 30 minutes.

"Look what I brought you. Our favorite food." The man raised his hand and waved a brown paper bag in front of her.

"Oh, you shouldn't have. You really shouldn't have," said Teresa. Oh how she wished he hadn't.

* * *

When Teresa at last finished all her debriefings at the space center, she hitched a ride with Wayne and Grace back to her house. She'd never been much of a homebody, but now she yearned for some solitude to process all that she had gone through - or that her mind thought she had gone through. After the three of them entered the living room, Teresa stopped to do nothing more than look around at the walls, the furniture, and the nick-nacks that surrounded her. Lost in thought, at first she didn't notice when Grace put her hand on her shoulder.

"Hey, are you all right?" asked Grace.

Shaking herself out of her stupor, Teresa said, "I was just thinking that three weeks ago when I left here I didn't think I'd ever make it back."

"But you did, and now you're a hero," said Wayne.

Teresa snorted.

"I was just doing my job."

"Just doing your job? Ha! You were saving all of us. You're more like Saint Teresa," said Grace.

The three fell silent for a few moments, then Wayne spoke.

"Grace and I brought all of your personal things over yesterday. We put 'em in the kitchen."

"I've imposed on you enough already. You run along. I'll be fine," said Teresa.

She saw the couple glance at each other.

"We know you need some time alone, but call us up anytime you need us. Anytime. I'll come by to check on you tomorrow," said Grace.

"Thank you both. I couldn't have better friends than you guys."

Waving goodbye, the couple left as the front door closed with a soft slam. While Teresa had sought solitude, a sense of loneliness now overtook her. Rubbing her arms with nervous energy, she stared at the four walls. Even if she were a hero and even if she had friends who were dear to her, Teresa felt alone in the world.

Listless, she pushed open the door to the kitchen. What she found surprised her. Her briefcase, luggage bag, and backpack lined up neatly along the far wall, and the kitchen itself was spotless. Because of the urgency of the mission, she had left home without doing her normal clean-up. Wayne and Grace, or more likely just Grace, must have come by earlier to straighten up. She needed to thank her friend the next time they talked.

Leaving the kitchen, Teresa walked through the house and found the same state of affairs. Everything was tidy and in order - towels laundered and folded, rugs vacuumed, and furniture dusted and polished. Teresa changed her mind. This was not a one-person job. Wayne must have helped Grace. And to do all that! Teresa decided that she needed to do something special for the couple, something like buying them dinner at a fancy restaurant.

The downside of all the work that Wayne and Grace did was that it left nothing for Teresa to do to occupy herself. A feeling of melancholy crept into her thoughts, and Teresa plopped down on the couch in the living room. She closed her eyes as the silence throughout the house deepened her melancholy.

That is, until a certain voice boomed out beside her ear.

"This is your cleaning service. What are yooooooooooou doing home so soon?"

Teresa felt as if she must have jumped two feet off the couch, the voice startled her so much. Twisting her head around, she beheld a pair of blue-green eyes that twinkled with delight.

"Being scared to death, Patrick Jane. Shame on you."

He was dressed in the same flowing silk robes that she remembered from the beach.

"While you were out I took the liberty of cleaning up around the house for you. I want to prove my worth to you."

For a moment, Teresa returned his smile. But a moment later, a thought ran through her mind that she said out loud.

"Oh, no. My hallucination's back."

"You still don't think I'm real, Teresa? Look at all the cleaning I've done."

"Grace and Wayne did all that."

"That couple who brought your belongings home? Ha! They seem nice, but they didn't do any cleaning. While they were here, I watched them from my teapot. As a matter of fact, I started to get mad when I saw Wayne open the refrigerator and pull out a beer."

For an instant Teresa focused on Wayne instead of Patrick.

"That moocher. I'm gonna wring his neck the next time I see…"

"Don't worry, Teresa. Grace smacked his hand and made him put it back."

"Good for her."

"Now you're talking like you believe in me. Good." Patrick rubbed his hands with glee. "We can…"

"Whoa, Mr. Hallucination." She crossed her arms. "How did you get here?"

"The same way you did." Patrick got a sheepish look on his face. "I-I hid out in your backpack in the teapot. Even though you left me on the beach, I just know that I can make your life a thousand times better. You already changed my life when you freed me. More than anyone else in the world, you deserve your own personal genie - and my gratitude."

Teresa closed her eyes tight and dropped her face in her hands.

"When I count to three, I'm gonna raise my head, open my eyes, and everything will be as it should be." She took a deep breath. "One. Two. Three."

She raised her head and opened her eyes.

"Surprise! I'm still here." Patrick flashed a blinding smile at Teresa. "Everything _is_ as it should be."

Teresa clinched her hands in fists.

"You. Are. Not. Real," she said.

"I. Am. Real," he said.

"You. Are. Not."

"Am too."

"Are not."

"Am too."

"Are not."

"Not.

"Are too."

Patrick pointed at her.

"Gotcha!" His eyes crinkled while he laughed.

"Other people have hallucinations that scare them. Mine just makes me want to punch him in the nose," she said.

Patrick got a sullen look.

"I don't want to make you mad. I want to help you, make you happy. Why do you keep thinking that I'm an hallucination?" he asked.

"Let's recap. You're a genie, you're centuries old, and you were imprisoned in a teapot," she said.

"Okay, you've gone over the facts. Now tell me the stuff that doesn't seem realistic," he said.

Teresa grabbed her hair with both hands and tugged.

"Ah! I'm losing my mind. All of the stress over the past three weeks has finally made me snap."

At once Patrick jumped over the couch and plopped down next to Teresa.

"Please don't say that. Let me help. Let me give you a massage. That'll relieve your stress," he said.

"But…" Before Teresa could get any further words out of her mouth, Patrick began to rub her shoulders. The touch of his fingers was gentle yet firm. Teresa felt the tension in her body drain away. "Ohhhhhhhh."

"Does that feel good, Teresa?"

"Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah."

"See. I can be good for you."

 _At least my hallucination gives a good massage_ , Teresa thought. For just a moment, she decided that she would give in to the tricks that her mind was playing on her.

"What else do you do besides clean house and give massages?"

"Anything you want. Whatever pops into your mind."

Why she said what she did next she couldn't figure out, but one word spilled out of her mouth.

"Dance."

Patrick sprang from the couch. Turning back to Teresa, he reached out, clasped her hand, and pulled her to her feet. Then he blinked.

 _Boink._

Her house was filled with a symphony orchestra. Violinists spilled out of the kitchen, an entire horn section ringed the walls of the living room, and percussionists lined the stairway. Standing atop the dining table, a conductor held a baton and looked expectantly at Patrick. Patrick nodded, and the conductor waved the baton.

The orchestra began to play the _Blue Danube Waltz_. Patrick took Teresa and swung her back-and-forth, around and around. She felt like Ginger Rogers in the arms of Fred Astaire. How long did they dance like that? She lost track of time. After who knows how long, she disentangled herself from Patrick. Left on his own, he stopped and blinked.

 _Boink._

The orchestra and conductor disappeared.

Patrick frowned.

"Did I displease you?" he asked.

"No, I just had to take a breather. You can continue on by yourself."

"As you wish, Teresa."

He blinked.

 _Boink._

A boombox playing music appeared beside him, and he swirled around and around on his own. The edges of his robes fluttered in the breeze as he spun with grace and flair. While he danced for Teresa he laughed, and despite herself she joined in.

In the midst of their laughter, Teresa heard the door open behind her. Wheeling around, she saw Grace Van Pelt walk in. The woman stood frozen at the edge of the living room, holding Teresa's dress uniform in her hands. Disbelief on her face, she stared at Patrick dancing in the middle of the floor.

"Ahm. I'm sorry that I interrupted you, Teresa. You had wanted me to pick your uniform up from the dry cleaners, and I thought you might need it. I didn't think you'd have someone... Ahm. I'll let myself out." Grace turned to leave.

"No. Stay, Grace." Teresa grabbed her friend's arm to keep her from leaving.

Now Grace was trying hard to stifle a snicker.

"Don't you want me to leave you and your friend alone?" she asked. Then she spoke in a whisper to Teresa, "Is this guy a stripper?"

Apparently Patrick had good hearing because he ceased dancing and addressed Grace.

"No, I am not a stripper. At least not unless Teresa wishes me to strip for her." He glanced at Teresa. "Do you wish for me to strip for you?"

"That's not required of you," Teresa replied as she blushed.

"Who are you? I don't think we've met. I'm Grace Van Pelt, a colleague of Teresa's." She stuck out her hand to shake Patrick's.

In return, Patrick grabbed her hand and pumped it vigorously.

"You're another astronaut? And you work with Teresa? Oh, you must tell me everything about what it's like to work with her. You must enjoy every day that Teresa allows you in her presence."

"Uh, yeah, I like working with her." Grace shot a worried glance over at Teresa before she resumed talking. "And who are you?"

"I am Patrick Jane, and Teresa Lisbon is my new mistress." He sported the most angelic of smiles when he said that.

Shock made Grace's mouth fall open. She stared back-and-forth between Patrick and Teresa, then she put her hands on her hips.

"Mistress, huh?" Grace's voice brimmed with indignation.

Patrick waved his hands in the air.

"No, it's not the meaning that you're thinking at all, Grace Van Pelt. Teresa found me and saved me. Now I am her servant. My job is to satisfy her every desire."

Grace's demeanor changed in an instant. She turned to Teresa and leered at her.

"You hit the jackpot!"

That good hearing of Patrick came into play again. He spoke up.

"I'm glad you agree with me, Ms. Van Pelt. I wish you would convince Teresa of that."

All of a sudden a thought came to Teresa - Grace is here and she's talking to Patrick. How can that be?

"Grace, do you see Patrick?"

"Of course. Who else would I be talking to?"

Patrick spoke again as he pointed at Grace.

"There's your proof, Teresa. I _am_ real. Your friend sees me."

"What did you think this guy was?" Grace asked Teresa.

Patrick interrupted.

"She thinks I'm a figment of her imagination."

"Wow. If that's the case, you've got some imagination, girl."

Teresa surrendered to the situation and breathed out a heavy sigh.

"Grace, Patrick isn't just a servant." She waved her hand at him. "Tell her what _kind_ of servant you are."

"I am Teresa's genie." Patrick rocked back-and-forth on his feet.

"Genie?" asked Grace. Then she turned to Teresa again. "How much do you pay him for all this role-playing fantasy stuff? Does he do parties? You know we're gonna throw a bachelorette party for Summer. I bet he'd be great for that."

Patrick got an offended look on his face.

"But I _am_ a genie. I serve only Teresa."

"Oh, he's good, Teresa. No wonder you wanted Wayne and me to leave."

"Do something for Grace. Do a magic trick," said Teresa.

"What am I, some sort of huckster entertainer, Teresa?" asked Patrick.

Teresa crossed her arms while she glared at Patrick.

"I am your mistress. Your job is to satisfy my every desire, isn't it?"

"Yes, Mistress," said Patrick as he lowered his head.

"Good. I want you to levitate the couch."

"Just the couch?" he asked.

"It's a start. Do it."

Patrick crossed his arms and blinked.

 _Boink._

The couch rose a meter off the floor.

Grace stared in wonder at the scene before her.

"Now levitate the easy chair," said Teresa.

 _Boink._

The chair joined the couch in mid-air.

"Okay, this is good, Teresa. How much extra do you have to pay him to rig up a stunt like this? If he did this at Summer's party, she'd never forget it," said Grace.

"Levitate Grace now," Teresa said to Patrick.

 _Boink._

Grace rose off the floor.

"What the hell?" Panic seized Grace as she flailed around in air, waving her arms and kicking up her legs. "Help me, Teresa. Do something."

Teresa crossed her arms.

"Now do you believe that I have my own personal genie?"

"Yes, yes, yes. Please get him to set me back down."

Teresa glanced over to Patrick.

"Lower Grace. Be sure to do it gently."

"Yes, Teresa."

 _Boink._

Slowly Grace descended until her feet touched the floor again.

"Now lower the couch and easy chair," Teresa said.

"Yes, Teresa."

At the same time, both the couch and the chair crashed to the floor with loud thuds. One side of the chair bounced back up and landed with a second thud followed by the scraping noise of its metal legs digging into the hardwood floor.

"Oh, that's gonna leave a mark," said Grace as she walked over to inspect the damage. She pointed down at an ugly gash that the chair's foot had dug into the floor. "That'll cost a lot to fix."

Teresa shook her head and looked at Patrick.

"Remove the gash from the wood."

"Yes, Mistress."

 _Boink._

In an instant the floor became as smooth as it ever was. Grace was dumbfounded. After she stared at the floor for a few seconds, she looked up at Patrick and then at Teresa.

"He really is a genie," she said.

Patrick had a self-satisfied look on his face as he addressed Teresa.

"And now that your friend has seen all of this, do you believe that I'm real?"

Teresa waved her hands in the air.

"You win, Patrick. Yes, I believe that you're real and that you're a genie."

Grace smiled at Teresa.

"This is fantastic. I can't wait to tell Wayne."

Dread filled Teresa when she heard Grace's words. She held up her hands in a defensive posture.

"No, Grace. You can't tell anyone about who Patrick really is."

"Not even Wayne?"

"No. Not even Wayne. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with Patrick," said Teresa.

Grace leered at her once more.

"You're trying to figure out what you'll do with this guy? Would you like some suggestions?"

"Hush, Grace. This is serious."

Patrick spoke up.

"Please tell me, Grace. You're her friend. What should I do for Teresa? How can I please her? I want to make Teresa scream with delight."

Grace turned back to Teresa.

"Jackpot!"

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Many artists including Ella Fitzgerald (my favorite) have recorded "This Could Be the Start of Something Big," written by Steve Allen. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic"

Up next: "Someone To Watch Over Me"


	4. Someone To Watch Over Me

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Someone To Watch Over Me**

* * *

Grace left after a few minutes, and Teresa Lisbon found herself sitting on the couch staring at a dazzling smile topped off with blue-green eyes and curly blond hair.

"What are you thinking about, Teresa?" Patrick Jane asked.

"You're a genie, a _real_ genie, so you tell me." She crooked up an eyebrow but in an instant her confidence vanished.

 _Why did I just say that? He can read me like a book_ , she thought.

"Don't worry. I'm discreet. I don't want to upset you."

Teresa relaxed. Not much but a little.

"So what was I thinking?"

"You were trying to figure out where to put me."

Bingo.

"How did you know that?"

"Do you think that since you've become my mistress, you won't ask that anymore?" he asked.

She rolled her eyes.

"All right. But that doesn't solve the problem."

"Oh, I solved that. When I was cleaning up, I found the perfect place for me."

"Where?"

"Your attic. At least when I'm not in the teapot."

"The attic? But it's dark, it's cluttered with old furniture, and it's cramped," Teresa said.

"The attic has more space than my teapot."

Teresa shrugged her shoulders.

"You're right about that. The attic is yours."

"Excellent. It'll be my home within a home."

Teresa couldn't help but smile at his boyish enthusiasm.

* * *

The next morning when Teresa left for the space agency, she made Patrick promise he'd stay put in the house until she got home. Of course it helped that she showed him how the television worked and how to access the internet. Her last view as she closed the front door was of Patrick using a computer mouse in one hand and a TV remote in the other. The big smile on his face was infectious. She sported one of her own smile for the whole day.

Thinking about Patrick alone at the house made her lonely too. Fortunately, her boss, Assistant Director Virgil Minelli, told her to go home right after lunch. As soon as she could, she jumped in her car and sped home. She was desperate to see how her genie had spent his day.

As soon as she got to her neighborhood, loud music bombarded her ears. Parking her car, she spied old Mr. LaRouche who lived next door standing on the sidewalk in front of her house. When she got out of the car, he marched up to her with a scowl that would curdle milk.

"Whoever's in your house is kicking up the most unholy racket I've ever heard," he said. "Who's living with you, some smart-assed teenager?"

"No sir. I'm sorry the noise disturbed you." Really, Teresa told sort of a lie. She normally could care less what the sour old man thought. "I'll turn down the music."

"Good. I'm grateful that you steered that comet away from us, but I've got my limits, Major Lisbon. I was about ready to call the police."

Teresa sighed.

"You won't need to do that. Let me get inside and I'll turn it off."

When she entered the house, Teresa got a surprise. An old music video blasted sound out from the speakers and filled the TV screen on the wall with images of dancing from the 1990s. In the middle of the living room, Patrick moved just like the man on the screen. She walked over, picked up the remote, and clicked off the television.

"But, but…" he sputtered. "It's MC Hammer. He's dressed just like me. And he's dancing too. I'm trying to imitate him."

Patrick reached toward the remote in Teresa's hand. In response, she jerked her hand away from him.

"You can't touch this." Her scolding tone seemed to inflame him. "How long have you been playing music this loud?" asked Teresa.

Patrick took the opportunity to grab the remote from her and turn the video back on.

"The last three hours," he said.

"Ah, sheep dip," Teresa said as she grabbed the remote back from him.

"But I got bored here without you." Patrick shot her a smile that would make a woman catch her breath and throw away her judgment. Despite that, Teresa kept up her air of authority.

"I wish you to keep the volume down."

His shoulders drooped.

"But I was having fun, Teresa." Mr. LaRouche had been sort-of right - Patrick did sound like a teen, a surly one.

"You still can, just at a lower volume. A much lower volume."

She handed the remote back to him but he set it down on the coffee table.

"Now that you're home I don't care about watching music videos. I'd rather spend time with you."

Patrick's words and the smile that accompanied them charmed Teresa. But then a thought intruded on her reverie. What about dinner? Living alone, Teresa had never spent much time cooking.

"I need to fix us something to eat," she said.

Patrick's smile intensified into a grin.

"Don't worry. I've got that taken care of." He blinked.

 _Boink._

At once, a white table cloth draped the dining table. Two place settings appeared, and light from two candelabras cast an intimate glow on the scene before them.

"Oh, Patrick. This looks lovely."

He hustled over to the nearest chair, pulled it out from the table, and motioned for Teresa to sit down.

"All for you, Madam. I hope you like what I've prepared."

After seating her, he sat down in the other chair.

"What's for dinner?" she asked.

"Filet mignon, fresh-picked peas, and a squash suffle. I took the liberty of selecting a red wine to complement the food, and we have baked Alaska for dessert."

He poured wine into her glass, and she took a sip.

"Oh, this is an excellent wine." She looked at the label on the bottle. "Vintage too. It's almost as old as you are."

"Well, give or take a few centuries," said Patrick as he winked at her.

Teresa had never had a meal that good before, and yet she enjoyed the conversation even more.

"So tell me about where you grew up…how long were you at the academy…were you scared the first time you went into space?…"

Patrick peppered her with questions, but she didn't mind. In turn, she asked a few of her own.

"When did you know you were a genie…what was it like using magic when you were growing up…how did you learn to use your powers?"

Teresa decided to steer clear of too many questions about Patrick's family and that Red John person. Her genie bubbled over with good cheer, and she hated to do anything to dampen that. After learning more about his life, her curiosity prompted her to ask about something more recent.

"What did you do today while I was gone? Besides looking at music videos."

"I started by watching your cable television."

"Which channel?" she asked.

"All of them."

"You can't mean…"

"I think there is a modern term for it - multi-tasking."

"What did you think of it?"

"There's so much on television that's fake. It detracts from the story."

"Such as?"

"There was a comedy show I watched called _Mr. Ed_. It was about a talking horse that belonged to a man named Wilbur. This Wilbur guy had to be the dullest human being who ever lived."

"That was the unrealistic part?"

"Oh, no. I've met plenty of Wilburs in my life. It was the talking horse that was totally absurd."

"I should think so."

"Everyone knows that the only members of the equine family capable of speech are donkeys. Well, mules too but that's because they're part-donkey."

"That's good information to know. Did you find anything on television you liked?"

"Oh, yes. I enjoyed the mystery shows."

"Any in particular?"

"Yes. One in particular. It mixed drama and comedy."

"Tell me about it."

"The show was about this man who consulted with law enforcement to solve murders."

Teresa rolled her eyes.

"That sounds like a lot of TV shows."

"But this one stood out because of the main character."

"Tell me about him."

"He got on people's nerves. The people he worked with wanted to wring his neck sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Teresa smiled.

"Well, most of the time."

"What else stood out about this character?"

"He had a female partner, and he also carried a personal vendetta through the series."

Teresa nodded as if she knew the show he was talking about.

"And what was the name of this show?"

"It was named for the lead character - _Monk_."

Teresa was speechless for a moment.

"What did you do after that?" she asked when she recovered.

"To use a modern term, I surfed the Internet."

"What did you find out?"

Patrick's face clouded over.

"There's strange stuff on the Internet. You need to be careful when you use it, Teresa."

"I'll keep that in mind. Were you looking for something in particular?"

"I was trying to see whatever happened to Red John, but I couldn't find anything on him."

"Perhaps he died."

"Only if he'd been near a strong blast of heat. That's a weakness sorcerers and genies have. No one else was as powerful as him."

"So if I want to control you, I need to get out my hair dryer and point it at you?"

"Only if it's fueled by nuclear fusion." Patrick's eyes twinkled as he answered her.

It turned out that Patrick had done one more thing for Teresa…

"I worked in your backyard," he said.

"So you mowed the lawn?" she asked.

"Yes, but that's not all. I landscaped your backyard. Come see."

In a playful manner, he placed his hands over her eyes and led her to the back door. When he removed his hands, she gasped. Instead of ground barely covered by a few scant blades of grass, her genie had created a landscape bursting with trees and wildflowers.

"Voila," he said.

"Oh, wow," were the only words she could speak.

He led her over to a log that he'd transformed into an outdoor bench. Spreading a thick blanket over it, they sat down.

"It's a sylvan theme," he said.

"Okay, I like the sylvan theme," she replied.

And she did. The longer they spent in her back yard, the more she liked it. Even though they were in the middle of the city, Teresa felt like she was out in the woods. She especially enjoyed the log, and the pair resumed their conversation from dinner while sitting on it.

"So, Teresa, tell me how you ended up on the island," said Patrick.

She proceeded to give him the story.

"Three months ago, an astronomer in Iceland found that the path of the Volker 516 comet had changed course to head for earth…there wasn't much time to prepare the rocket…I was still training on how to plant the explosives…the systems on the SD-1 almost shut down in earth orbit…we couldn't figure out why…once I left for deep space, the problems ceased…planting the charge on the surface of the comet worked like a charm…when I came back to earth's atmosphere, the same electrical problems started again…the island was three hundred kilometers off-target…"

Teresa thought she would bore Patrick with all the details, but no. He sat in rapt silence while she talked, and he would ask a question every now-and-then about some specific part of her adventure. It seemed like they talked for hours, and Teresa enjoyed every minute of it.

* * *

Back in the house, Teresa had gone to take a shower when the doorbell rang. Patrick heard her call out from the bathroom, "I'm coming."

Wanting to help her any way that he could, Patrick went ahead to the door and opened it. What he found on the front porch was a man holding a large sack. The guy looked like he'd contracted boredom as a terminal disease and spread it to anyone he came in contact with. Perhaps to disguise his lethal langor, he sported a smile. When he saw Patrick though, it drooped into a frown.

"Is your name Wilbur?" asked Patrick.

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

George and Ira Gershwin wrote "Someone To Watch Over Me," and many artists have recorded the song. Two favorites are Ella Fitzgerald's version on _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the George and Ira Gershwin Songbook_ and Willie Nelson's on _Summertime: Willie Nelson Sings Gershwin_. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic"

Up next: "Stormy Weather"


	5. Stormy Weather

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 5: Stormy Weather**

* * *

"Is your name Wilbur?" Patrick asked.

The man's face clouded over.

"Ah, no." He stuck out his hand in greeting. "My name's Marcus. Marcus Pike. And who are you?"

Patrick shook Marcus' hand.

"I'm Patrick Jane."

At that point, Teresa walked out of her bedroom in jeans and a sweatshirt.

"Marcus. I didn't know you were coming by."

He held up a sack.

"I brought your favorite treat. Pancakes!"

Patrick stared at the man then shifted his gaze to Teresa.

"Pancakes? That can't be a favorite of yours. I doubt you even like them. Judging by what you've got in the kitchen, I'd say you were more of a cannoli girl." Patrick turned back to Marcus. "You must be the one who likes pancakes."

Patrick could tell he was right by the way Teresa blushed and Marcus frowned.

"Come on in, Marcus. I'll get plates and we can eat some," Teresa said. Patrick heard the strain in her voice as she tried to sound cheerful.

"Great!" Marcus said with far too much enthusiasm for Patrick's taste.

 _This guy is trying too hard with Teresa,_ he thought.

Patrick hated hearing Teresa invite Marcus in. Couldn't she see that she had no business with someone like him? A wrenching pain coursed through his stomach at the thought of her with that man. Truth be told, he didn't like the thought of her being with any man. But Patrick was her genie, and he served her.

Then Patrick's heart fluttered with joy when he saw her put out place settings for three at the dining table, not two. Glancing at Marcus, he saw the man's face scrunch up.

When the three of them sat down, Patrick felt Marcus' gaze burn holes through him. He could see that he agitated the man just by his presence. _Good_. Patrick responded with a broad smile guaranteed to set the man's blood boiling. Mission accomplished. Marcus thumped his fingers on the dining table as he stared at Patrick.

"So, Patrick. You didn't tell me why you're here. I've never seen you around before." Marcus hurled the words out of his mouth at him.

"He's from out-of-town, Marcus," said Teresa in a halting voice.

Marcus turned to glare at her. "Really. Then why is he in town?"

Patrick didn't like this pushy man one bit, and when he put pressure Teresa that was one step too far. Patrick cleared his throat.

"I'm in town because I've come to live here with Teresa."

Marcus' glare switched from Teresa back to Patrick.

"Is that so? What do you do, Patrick?"

"Right now I mostly sit on the couch and take naps when I'm not watching TV or surfing the Internet." Patrick heard Marcus snort and Teresa sigh. "…And I do light housework."

"Is that all?"

"Well, I've done some landscaping too."

"Where do you sleep?" Marcus spat out his words.

"In the attic," said Patrick. "And sometimes in my teapot too."

"Your teapot?" asked Marcus.

Patrick shrugged his shoulders.

"It's kind of cramped, but I've gotten used to over the centuries." Then Patrick remembered that Teresa had warned him about telling strangers about himself. "Ahm, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked about that. Teresa told me not say anything about me being a genie." Patrick clamped his hand across his mouth then released it. He looked over to Teresa. "I apologize. I did it again. I said too much." He turned his attention back to Marcus. "Please forget I said anything about my teapot or living there for centuries or me being a genie."

His jaw gone slack, Marcus looked bewildered. He scratched his head, glanced at Teresa, and stared at Patrick again.

"What exactly is the nature of your relationship with Teresa?" Marcus asked.

Teresa responded before Patrick could say anything.

"Patrick…" She hesitated for a moment. "…is my cousin."

Marcus never took his eyes off Patrick. Now Patrick, his arms crossed in defiance, glared back at Marcus.

"Which side of Teresa's family are you on, _Cousin_ Patrick?" he asked.

"Both," said Patrick.

The man's brow furrowed as the rage melted away from his face. In its place a tinge of what looked like pity surfaced.

"That explains a lot," said Marcus as he shook his head.

Patrick enjoyed sitting at the table with Teresa, but he didn't enjoy Marcus Pike's presence one bit. Why not? Well for one thing, Marcus wasn't worthy of Teresa. His mistress deserved only the best in her life, and the best certainly was not this bland man. Then there was that other reason, the reason that Patrick had to fight to keep under control. He couldn't think of Teresa _that_ way, he reminded himself. _Some things are not meant to be. Count your blessings that she allows you in her life. Be happy with that. She's your mistress and can never be any more than that. Stifle the jealousy that wells up in your heart._ Seeing Teresa filled Patrick with joy. Seeing her with Marcus Pike - or any other man for even half a moment - filled him with despair.

Patrick watched as Marcus walked over to a cabinet in the kitchen and got a bottle out of it. When he got back to his seat at the table, the man squeezed the bottle and a brown stream of what appeared to be toxic waste squirted onto his pancakes. Finished with his task, Marcus tried to hand the bottle to Teresa. She shook her head "no" with vigor. Shrugging his shoulders, a smiling Marcus turned to Patrick.

"Want some syrup for your pancakes?" he asked.

When Patrick saw the bottle up-close, he noticed that it was in the shape of Mount Rushmore.

"No thanks."

"Are you sure? This is the premium line of artificial maple syrup."

"Ahh, no. I'll pass," said Patrick.

"Oh, well. Your loss. You _must_ be related to Teresa. You have the same reaction to the syrup that she does," said Marcus.

"A grimace?" asked Patrick.

"Precisely," replied Marcus. He turned his attention back to Teresa. "So, honey, have you thought any more about my offer."

"Maybe you haven't noticed, but I've been busy lately," said Teresa. Patrick's finely-tuned senses picked up her hint of sarcasm, something completely lost on Marcus Pike.

Marcus turned to Patrick, a big smile on his face.

"I'm moving to Washington for a new job, and I've asked Teresa to come with me."

Patrick felt like twenty tons of weight had dropped on him, but before he could answer Teresa spoke.

"And I'm still thinking about it," she said as her hint of sarcasm morphed into something with more than a hint of irritation.

 _She doesn't want to go_ , thought Patrick. _Good. You and I can stay here and let this Wilbur go to Washington or wherever. Just as long as he goes someplace besides here._

"You're in her family, Patrick. Help me out. Help me convince her to come with me."

"Why?"

"Because I'm offering her something. A life, a home, a family. A future," said Marcus.

"And you think only you can offer her that?"

Marcus puffed out his chest.

"Contrary to what any of her friends - or family - think, I've got a _plan_ for her," said Marcus.

"Yeah, well the Coca-Cola company had a plan for 'New Coke.' How did that turn out?" asked Patrick, trying to mimic the sarcasm in Teresa's voice.

Marcus crossed his arms then looked at Teresa again.

"You know we've got something real between us. I can feel it."

"Marcus, I'm feeling tired. I think it's time to call it a night. Don't you?"

Patrick saw Marcus perk up and a smile erupt across his face. In that instant, he knew what the man was thinking, and it made Patrick's blood boil. Glancing at Teresa, he saw her blush.

"I've got my overnight bag in the car. Let me go get it," said Marcus.

Teresa closed her eyes and rubbed her temples. Her actions were enough to tip off Patrick that romance with Marcus was _not_ on her to-do list. That was enough incentive for Patrick. _Time for action_ , he thought.

 _Boink._

Marcus rose from his chair. As he turned toward the door, the man pitched over face-first to the floor. He landed with a thud on the hardwood. Grasping his nose, he yelped in pain.

"What happened? Are you alright?" asked Teresa as she rushed over to help him up.

Marcus pointed at his feet.

"How did that happen? My shoe laces are tied together."

"Imagine that," said Patrick, assuming the most innocent expression he could muster.

Teresa glanced over at Patrick and narrowed her eyes to thin slits of burning anger.

"Let me help you up, Marcus," Teresa said as she focused again on him.

Marcus waved her off as he untangled his shoe laces.

"I'm fine," he said as he retied his shoes. "Nothin's gonna keep me down." He flashed a grin at Teresa and Patrick. Then he reached over to the bookcase next to him for support as he pulled himself up.

 _Boink._

Just as Marcus got back on his feet, the shelf he had grasped snapped. A dozen books plus broken pieces of wood rained down on him as he fell to the floor again. Then he looked up.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

The remaining books and what was left of the bookshelf toppled on top of him. The only parts of him visible beneath the debris were his hands and feet. Moaning, he struggled to free himself. Teresa knelt beside him and tossed aside book after book to get to him. Now when she looked at Patrick, she shook with rage.

"Help us out here. Now."

"Yes, mistr…I mean Teresa."

After the two of them finished pulling everything off him, they lifted Marcus back to his feet. He looked at Teresa and shook his head.

"It's getting late, and I'm kinda sore. I think I'd best go home."

At those words, Patrick ran to the front door and opened it.

"Well, I'm glad I met you, Marcus Pike. I hope you have a safe drive home. At least safer than hanging around here," he said.

Teresa walked Marcus over to the doorway.

"I hope you get to feeling better," she said.

"I'll be fine," he said. "There's something I really want to talk to you about though. How about dinner tomorrow night?"

Standing behind Marcus, Patrick mouthed the word "no" toward Teresa. For good measure, he shook his head "no" with vigor. In response, Teresa put her hands on her hips in a defiant posture.

"That sounds lovely, Marcus. Call me tomorrow and we'll decide the time."

Patrick rolled his eyes.

"Great! I'm looking forward to it." He turned his attention to Patrick. "I'm glad I met you too, Patrick Jane." He turned back to Teresa. "Gemme some sugar before I hit the road, how 'bout it, Teresa?"

Marcus pulled Teresa to him and planted his lips on hers.

1 second. 2 seconds. 3 seconds. 4 seconds. 5 sec… _This is ridiculous. How long can it last?_ thought Patrick. Mouth agape, he stared at Marcus as he deepened his kiss with Teresa. _The gall of that man to do that! And in front of me no less,_ he thought. It felt as though the man was marking his territory.

At last Marcus released Teresa. He bobbed his head in farewell to Patrick, walked through the doorway, and turned to leer back at Teresa. The look he gave her incensed Patrick.

 _Boink._

Even for night time, the weather had been thick and hot. Not now. Cold breezes blew a blizzard of snow flakes into Marcus' face as he stumbled toward his car. As soon as he stepped on the now ice-coated sidewalk, his feet gave way.

Thud.

"Yeeeeee-owl."

Marcus landed on his ass.

Teresa scowled at Patrick.

"Let me help you up, Marcus," she said.

The man waved her off.

"You stay inside. I can make it to my car." Marcus tried to rise but went splat on the sidewalk again. After two more failed attempts, he gave up and crawled over to his car. Reaching up from the pavement as his hand trembled, he unlocked the door and climbed in. With a final wave, he drove off.

"Freaky weather we're having, don't you think?" said Patrick to Teresa.

She smacked him on the arm.

* * *

Teresa was so mad at Patrick she thought her head would explode.

"You were trying to kill poor Marcus," she said.

"Poor Marcus? Ha! I could tell by your body language that you didn't want him here tonight. I did you a service."

She hated it when he could read her mind like that.

"Patrick Jane, I can take care of myself. I don't need your magic to handle my love life."

He held out his hands palm-up in front of him

"But Teresa, I was just helping out. You didn't want him staying over here, yet you didn't want to hurt his feelings. A little well-placed magic did the trick."

Teresa dropped her face into her hands.

"Let me fight my own battles." She looked up to scowl at Patrick. "Marcus is a good man. A really good man. He loves me."

She knew that. In fact, she'd known that a long time.

"And?" asked Patrick.

"And what?" she countered.

"And how do you feel about him."

"I told you he's a good man. I…I…I…." She took a deep breath. "I could learn to love Marcus. He's…"

"I know, I know. He's a good man. You say that like a mantra, something to ward off an evil spirit." Patrick rolled his eyes. "Or a lack of conviction."

"He's any woman's dream. He's a goo…" Teresa bit her tongue before the "g" word came out. "He's what someone looks for in a stable relationship."

"Except that you don't love him back."

"I never said that." Even if she thought that deep down in her heart, she wouldn't say it out loud. Especially not to her genie. "I'm just not sure I'm ready for the next step."

"Will you ever be ready with Marcus?" asked Patrick.

Teresa brushed away some wetness at the edges of her eyes.

"Does being a genie come with the power to give advice?" She desperately wanted to change the subject from what she thought about Marcus Pike.

"It depends. What's the advice you're wanting?" asked Patrick.

"What should I be looking for in someone to spend the rest of my life with? Who is the ideal person? Do you have a crystal ball you can peer into?"

Patrick scoffed.

"Crystal ball? Only charlatans use a stage prop like that. But I can answer your question."

"Go ahead. I'm all ears," said Teresa as she perked up.

"The ideal person is…" Patrick tapped his index finger on his lips while he thought. "Someone you can trust. Someone who's strong." Teresa nodded as he spoke. "Someone at peace with themselves. Oh, and someone better than you." They both chuckled before Patrick got serious again. "Someone who knows the worst about you yet still loves you."

The warmth of what Patrick said stirred a longing in her heart. For his part, Patrick seemed lost in a daze. Teresa let out a sigh.

"Do people like that exist?" she asked.

Her genie stood, a sad smile on his face.

"I was married to one." Patrick bobbed his head in farewell and walked up the stairs to the attic. "Goodnight, Teresa."

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

On a personal note, I thought Jane on the TV show should have been more assertive during the whole Pike story arc - so he's more assertive in this story.

Harold Arlen and Ted Koehler wrote "Stormy Weather," and a favorite version of mine is Willie Nelson's on the album, _Stardust_. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic"

Up next: "Break Up With Him"


	6. Break Up With Him

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Break Up With Him**

* * *

 _The next day…_

As Teresa Lisbon stared at herself in the mirror, she sighed. Why? Didn't she have the tingle of anticipation for whatever Marcus Pike wanted to talk about at dinner? No. Rather, she felt the sting of dread for whatever lay in store for her.

So much had happened to Teresa - Marcus' pressure to leave with him, the miracle of her near-death mission…and the entry of a certain blond-haired genie in her life. Instead of basking in the glow of her recent triumph, she stood in her bedroom wanting to push the world away from her for as long as she could. Her life had spun into chaos, and she wanted to shout "halt" just to catch her breath. She closed her eyes.

 _I should pray for clarity_ , she thought.

Shaking herself out of her stupor, Teresa walked into the living room.

* * *

Laying on the couch, Patrick Jane watched Teresa tip-toe across the living room toward the front door.

"Wow. Look at you," he said.

Freezing, she looked like a deer startled by a bright light.

"Don't start with me," she said.

He saw the muscles on her bare arms tense as she clutched her purse in a tight grip.

"No. I'm not messing with you. You look especially beautiful tonight. I hope he's taking you some place nice."

Her lips creased upward in a thin smile.

"He is. The Worldwide Emporium of Pancakes. Fancy cloth napkins and everything."

"Hmm. Well, you have a great time."

"Good night, Patrick. Don't wait up for me."

"Good night, Teresa."

He watched as she drug herself to the front door, lingered as she opened it, and exited after an extra moment of standing stooped over in the door frame. The moment he heard the door click shut, Patrick sprang from the couch. He rubbed his hands together with glee.

 _I've seen all I need to see to know how Teresa feels even if she doesn't know herself. Pancake Man doesn't stand chance_ , he thought.

 _Boink._

With a blink, Patrick changed from his flowing robes into a light blue three-piece suit.

"Of course I can always help matters along…" he said to himself as he blinked again and disappeared.

 _Boink._

* * *

As soon as Teresa and Marcus took their seats at the table in the restaurant, she could tell something was different about him. Flashing some puppy dog eyes at her, Marcus fidgeted in his chair. He even cleared his throat several times without speaking.

As Teresa sat in silence, she shifted her gaze to stare at Marcus' plate of pancakes. Somehow they didn't look the same. Raising her gaze to Marcus, he smiled. Then Teresa realized what differed.

"You don't have any of that fake maple syrup on your pancakes."

"I haven't poured it on yet," said Marcus in a matter-of-fact tone. "I was waiting for the right moment."

Pulling a small plastic bottle in the shape of the Washington Monument from his pocket, Marcus opened the top of it and began to pour syrup on the pancakes. And pour. And pour. Soon his whole plate was drenched, and a viscous drop of syrup oozed over the edge of the plate onto the table cloth.

"Teresa, until I met you I was like these pancakes. Dry, flat, appealing perhaps, yet still incomplete." He took a moment to look down at the bottle of syrup in his hand. "These pancakes alone represent my life without you." Marcus took a moment to shovel a dripping mass of pancakes into his mouth. His eyes began misting as he spoke while chewing his food. "Pancakes are so much better with syrup."

"Um, where are you going with this, Marcus?" she asked as tension filled her whole body.

"Let me finish," he said. Annoyance flashed across Marcus' eyes. "Pancakes and syrup just go together naturally. In Washington, DC! See, this bottle looks like the Washington Monument." He waved the bottle in the air, slinging some of the syrup toward a family of four eating at the next table. All of them ducked in time except for the mother, who shrieked when a glob of syrup landed in her hair. "Uh, sorry, ma'am."

Undaunted, Marcus pointed the bottle upside-down so it drooled out more and more of the brownish, tar-like substance on his plate. The syrup pooled on the pancakes in a not-quite-liquid, not-quite-solid state. He was so intent on squeezing out more syrup that the bottle slipped in his grasp. The sticky goo smeared all over his hands as he fought to regain control. In a moment his left hand was so sticky that Marcus pressed the bottle onto his palm and it stayed there - stuck like glue. He lifted his gaze back to Teresa and smiled.

"Teresa, I am your pancake. You are my syrup. Will you marry me?" he asked, his earnest expression marred only by a smear of pancake goo now cemented onto his chin.

He reached his syrup-soaked right hand over to Teresa to pat her arm. After his first tap on the sleeve of her dress though, he couldn't pull his fingers away.

 _Boink._

When he jerked his hand to get free, he tore the fabric.

Teresa stared down at her ripped dress as anger welled inside her.

"No way. No. No!" She shook her head with vigor.

Marcus recoiled as if someone had struck him.

"Your answer is 'No'? You won't marry me? I just knew you'd say 'Yes.' You're hardly a mystery to me."

In an instant, Teresa's anger turned into a white-hot rage. She spit out her next words as if they were a curse.

"After all this time together, you don't know me at all, Marcus Pike."

Marcus flung the syrup bottle from his left hand and grasped Teresa's two hands with both of his.

"You can't really believe that. Think of all we mean to each other."

"I do mean that. And let go of my hands," she said.

 _Boink._

Marcus tugged his hands to no avail.

"I can't. They're stuck. It must be the syrup."

"Let go of me, Marcus."

"I told you that I can't. Maybe it's fate that's keeping us together. Had you ever thought about that?" Marcus continued to try to prize his hands away from hers as he attempted to muster a weak smile.

"No way in hell. Oh, I wish I was free from this sticky mess. And from you too," said Teresa.

 _Boink._

Just as Marcus pulled away again from Teresa all the syrup disappeared from his hands. The force of Marcus' recoil flipped him backwards, skittering across the floor of the restaurant until he came to a stop beside the family sitting at the next table. Groaning, he smiled up at them. Looking down at him, the father, the mother, and the two children all rose from their chairs at once and hurried to the exit.

At that moment, Teresa saw Patrick saunter up, dressed not in his genie outfit but in a blue suit sans tie.

"Well, hi there folks. Fancy meeting you here. Did I come at a bad time?"

Teresa glowered at Patrick while Marcus stared up at him from the floor and pointed.

"You! Somehow you're behind all this," said Marcus.

"Me?" Patrick stood with his palms open and extended. "How could I have done anything?"

Marcus got to his feet, turned, and wagged his finger at Teresa.

"Things were going well for us until _he_ butted into our lives. Your cousin is a bad influence on you."

Teresa felt her blood boil. Rising from her chair, she pointed at the front door of the restaurant.

"That's it. Get out." She reached down, picked up the Washington Monument bottle, and flung it at Marcus. "And take your damn pancake syrup with you. Maybe you can use it to glue your mouth shut."

Fumbling with the bottle in his hands trying to close it, Marcus stomped out the door at a brisk pace. With a loud sigh, Teresa slumped down in her chair. Patrick plopped down in the chair Marcus had vacated. The boyish grin on his face both enthralled and irked Teresa. She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Please tell me you didn't engineer this fiasco," she said.

"The only thing I did was mess with that industrial adhesive that masquerades as pancake syrup." Patrick's eyes crinkled with delight. "I'm glad I did too. I enjoyed seeing him skid across the floor. As for his proposal to you, no amount of magic could have conjured up one that bad. He did _that_ on his own."

"So you were here all the time? You saw all this?"

Patrick got a defiant look on his face.

"Yes. I shrunk myself down to thimble size and hid behind the potted fern over there." He pointed to the corner of the room. "As your genie, I should look out for your best interests."

"So I should thank you for checking up on me?" She hoped he heard the sarcasm that tinged her voice.

Patrick got a smug look on his face.

"I know, I know, you don't know whether to hug me or to hit me," said Patrick. Teresa reached over and smacked his arm. "Ouch."

Teresa sagged back down in her chair.

"I guess this was for the best. Marcus and I weren't right for each other," she said.

"I could tell that from the moment I met him."

Teresa glowered once more at Patrick.

"How did you…" Her voice trailed off as Patrick waved his hand.

"Seeing your less-than-excited reaction to him when he was around didn't require any magic," said Patrick. "Your face told me everything I needed to know."

Teresa softened her glare.

"And what does my face say now, Mr. Mind Reader?" asked Teresa.

"It says you're happy he's gone. Don't deny it," said Patrick.

She let her shoulders droop.

"I won't."

"Your expression says something else too, Teresa."

Though wary, she took the bait.

"And what would that be?"

Patrick blinked.

 _Boink._

Menus appeared in their hands.

"Your expression says you're famished…and you don't want to eat any pancakes."

Teresa smiled as she glanced down at her menu.

"Anything look good to you?" she asked.

"Eggs always hit the spot for me. Do you think the cooks would scramble some for me this late in the evening?" Jane asked.

"If they didn't, I'm sure you could blink up some for you _and_ me." They both laughed as Jane nodded. Now relaxed, Teresa eyed Jane closely again. "Are you sure you didn't pull some sort of magic trick to make Marcus do what he did?"

Jane shook his head.

"No. I'm good at magic spells but not _that_ good. Like I said, Marcus Pike being pushy was his own undoing." Jane snorted. "By the way, that was the worst _way_ to propose marriage I've ever seen."

"So you're an expert?" Teresa asked.

"I wouldn't say that, but I know enough not to use pancakes and syrup as a metaphor."

Teresa crossed her arms.

"What would you have done to propose marriage to someone?" she asked.

Patrick scrunched up his face as he thought then smiled.

"Actually, I would have used a metaphor too, but I would have chosen something more meaningful, something I could truly share. Something like a cherished ring perhaps," he said.

"That's a nice sentiment, Patrick." She decided to change the subject. "So tell me about…"

As events turned out, Teresa did have an enjoyable evening out on the town after all. And she had Patrick Jane to thank.

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

The country (or _bro_ -country as some call the sub-genre) group Old Dominion wrote and recorded "Break Up With Him." The cheeky tone of this song's narrator provided an inspiration for Jane's demeanor in this chapter. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic"

Up next: "Burnin' Old Memories (With a Brand New Flame)"


	7. Burnin' Old Memories w Brand New Flame

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 7: Burnin' Old Memories (With a Brand New Flame)**

* * *

Teresa Lisbon felt pangs of doubt in the days that followed her break-up with Marcus Pike, but as time passed she dwelled on it less and less. The sky seemed bluer, the sun shown brighter, and the birds chirped sweeter than they had in a long time. Who could she thank for that change in her disposition? Patrick Jane, who seemed to know how to exasperate and enchant her both at the same time.

Truth be told, Patrick exasperated her less and less these days and enchanted her more and more. He learned fast. Where certain parts of modern life flummoxed him when he first came to live with her, he now took matters in stride.

Her neighbors had come to like Patrick as well. One evening when she walked into her house, she heard boisterous laughter coming from the kitchen. She could easily make out Patrick's laugh - she'd come to cherish the good spirit behind it. The voice of the other laugh sounded familiar, but she just couldn't quite place it until she walked in the kitchen. What was _he_ doing here? Old Mr. J.J. LaRouche stood beside a jeans-and-T-shirt-clad Patrick in front of the counter top. Setting in front of them was a large covered pot.

"Okay, J.J.. I'm going to count to three and you'll get a big surprise about what's in the pot."

"I'm not gonna close my eyes, Patrick. A good magician lets his audience see him," said the old man.

"No need to. As a matter of fact, I want you to keep them open and watch me." Patrick looked up to see Teresa walk in the kitchen and nodded at her. "Just like Teresa. She has to watch me like a hawk." Then he directed his attention to the pot again. "One. Two. Three."

Patrick tapped the side of the pot.

 _Boink._

The top of the pot rattled. Startling him, Mr. LaRouche took a step back.

"What the…" the old man couldn't complete his sentence. Patrick motioned for him to lift off the top. After inhaling a deep breath, Mr. LaRouche did so, and a rabbit jumped out.

Watching the animal scurry across the kitchen floor and exit the house through the open back door, Patrick shook his head.

"Well, J.J., it looks like rabbit stew is off the menu for tonight."

The two men laughed again, and now the old man addressed Teresa.

"Major Lisbon, Patrick is a delight." He turned his attention back to Patrick. "I'm gonna have to go. Remember shuffleboard on Friday."

With a wave, Mr. LaRouche departed. Turning around to make sure he was gone, Teresa addressed her genie.

"So he thinks you're good with magic tricks?"

"Indeed. He tells me he can't figure out how I do the tricks. Of course I say it's pure magic, and he laughs. If he only knew." Patrick waggled his eyebrows. Other than Teresa herself, only Grace Van Pelt knew that he was a genie.

"What's for dinner?" she asked.

 _Boink_.

"How about five-alarm, curl-your-toes chili?" Patrick pointed to the steaming bowl that he had conjured up on the dining room table.

Teresa rubbed her stomach.

"How about something lighter for dinner? I had a heavy lunch."

 _Boink._

"How does soup sound?" Patrick pointed to a pot of tomato soup that now replaced the chili.

"Lighter still. How about a salad?" she asked.

 _Boink. Boink._

Patrick now conjured up two containers on the table.

"Your choice - Cobb or Caesar."

Teresa smiled.

"Cobb salad would be delicious."

While they were eating, Teresa's phone rang. If it had been someone besides her boss, Assistant GSA Director Virgil Minelli, she might have let it go to voicemail. Seeing his image on the screen though, she decided to answer it.

"Hey, boss. What's up?"

" _I need a favor, Teresa. I need you to…_ "

Ten minutes later when she finished the call, she looked up to find Patrick studying her.

"What did your boss want, Teresa?" he asked.

"Virgil wants me to make a public relations appearance at some club in the area. Apparently the members have lobbied him for a long time to send someone from the GSA to appear there, and some of the people in the club have political clout. People like judges, publishers, senators. So I agreed to go."

"What's wrong with that?" Patrick asked.

"I hate making a speech."

Her genie got a sly look on his face.

"What if we make your visit one they'll never forget?"

"And how would _we_ do that?" she asked as she crooked up an eyebrow.

"Take me along with you and _we_ can." Patrick rubbed his hands together with glee. "Let's you and me put on a…"

* * *

Two days later, Teresa and Patrick strolled into the rustic wood lodge of the Forager's Club, a retreat for the wealthy and powerful located in a forest about an hour's drive out of town. Inside, a man paced back-and-forth across the lobby. He looked like he was trying to do three jobs at once as he barked out orders into his phone and scribbled notes on a pad of paper. When he spied Teresa, he shoved the phone in his pocket and stuck out his hand to shake hers and Patrick's hands.

"Major Lisbon, thank you for visiting us today. I'm Kenyun Russell, President of the Forager's Club. We've set up things exactly like you instructed us to."

"Thank you," she said.

"This is the first time we've had a guest do something other than a speech. Word's gotten out, and the members are all buzzing about what you and your friend are going to do."

Teresa felt a knot of tension in her stomach, but ever-observant Patrick patted her on the back. That seemed to make her worries subside, at least for the moment. Before she could reply to Russell, Patrick spoke.

"Your members are gonna love it. It'll be unforgettable."

With the sound of the ring-tone on his phone, Russell excused himself to take another call. Left alone with Patrick again, Teresa took a deep breath to try to control the stage fright that threatened to overwhelm her.

"You'll be fine, Teresa," said Patrick. "We'll have fun. I used to do this all the time for children in the town where I lived."

"Are you…"

She started to reply to Patrick, but the voice of another man on his phone sounded from the empty cloakroom next to where they stood.

"Yes, dear. I made it here to the Forager's Club alright. It's lonely here without you, and I miss you already. See you in three days. Love you, Carolyn." Dressed in a business suit with a bright red power tie that would strike fear even in a hedge-fund manager, the man snapped off his phone and walked into the lobby. Casting a glance toward his right, he broke into a broad grin as a woman approached him.

"Wescott," the woman said as she opened her arms to embrace him.

"Brandee," he replied. "I just got off the phone with my wife. I told her I won't be back until Friday. We've got three whole days to ourselves."

Wescott pulled Brandee to him for a kiss as Teresa gaped at them slack-jawed. It didn't matter though, they were oblivious of anyone else. When they broke their kiss, Wescott tugged Brandee's sleeve to follow him into the auditorium.

The sight of the adulterous couple incensed Teresa.

"I can't stand people like that," she said.

"It's awful. I never would have done that to my wife," said her genie.

Looking around, she saw Patrick's contorted expression display the same emotions she felt. She reached over to rub his shoulder.

"I never knew your family, but I know you well enough to believe you. You're a genie of good character, Patrick Jane."

What did she see? A little mistiness edged around his eyes. He reached over to squeeze her hand.

"Thank you, Teresa. Thank you for your faith in me. I…I loved my family."

Their hands still clasping, the two looked at each other and shut out the rest of the world. The kinship that Teresa first felt for Patrick on the beach had only grown stronger during their time together. Beyond that, the yearning in her heart for this sad yet happy, confident yet vulnerable, withdrawn yet exuberant genie had grown as well. Now she couldn't fathom how she'd make it through a single day without seeing his mop of golden curls or the bluish-green flash of his eyes or the boyish grin that lit up her life.

Too soon a man's voice broke the moment that Teresa and Patrick shared.

"Major Lisbon? Mr. Jane? Are you ready? Everyone's seated and waiting for you," said Kenyun Russell as he strode back into the lobby.

With a nod of Patrick's head, Teresa turned to Russell and spoke.

"Lead on, sir."

She still held Patrick's hand as the two of them accompanied Russell into the auditorium.

* * *

 _30 minutes later…_

Teresa sat on the front row in the auditorium and watched Patrick, dressed in a sports jacket and jeans, as he entertained the crowd.

"So, may I call you Kenyun?" asked Patrick as he stood on-stage next to Mr. Russell.

"Of course," said the man as he held a deck of playing cards fanned out face-down in his hands.

"Kenyun, I'm gonna do a dance." Patrick twirled around and shimmied. "By the way, I picked that up from MC Hammer. You can't touch this." The crowd chuckled. "Observe that I am placing the card back into the deck." Patrick slid the card between several others. "Now, Kenyun, look in your left jacket pocket and you should find the Eight of Clubs."

Teresa saw Patrick blink.

 _Boink._

Kenyun Russell stuck his hand in the pocket and his eyes bugged out in surprise. Slowly he pulled out a card. The crowd fell silent as he turned it over.

"It's the Eight of _Diamonds_ , Mr. Jane," said Kenyun.

Patrick put his hands on his hips in mock exasperation.

"Wait a minute. Where did I put the Eight of Clubs?" Patrick asked himself out loud as the crowd mumbled nervously. He tapped his lips with his finger. "Oh, I remember. Try your _right_ jacket pocket, Kenyun."

 _Boink._

The man reached in that pocket - and pulled out the Eight of _Spades_. A smattering of laughter arose.

"Still no Eight of Clubs," said Kenyun.

"Humph. Where could I have put it?" Patrick asked himself again. "Try your shirt pocket, Kenyun."

 _Boink._

The man reached into that pocket and pulled out the Eight of _Hearts_.

Now the crowd laughed louder as Patrick scratched his head. Then he let a grin stretch across his face. "Now I remember. Take off your left shoe, Kenyun."

 _Boink._

The man slipped off his shoe, shook it, and a card floated down to the floor. Kneeling to pick it up, Kenyun held the card aloft.

"The Eight of _Clubs_ , Mr. Jane."

The crowd jumped to their feet and erupted in cheers.

"Folks, you'll have to forgive me. My memory must not be what it used to be," said Patrick as he slapped the side of his head.

As soon as the crowd settled down, Patrick drew their attention once more.

"I'd like to invite our guest of honor, Major Teresa Lisbon, on-stage."

As she walked up the steps to join Patrick, the crowd cheered again. When she took her place alongside Patrick, Teresa whispered in his ear.

"I guess magic tricks are easier when you're using actual magic, aren't they?"

Patrick whispered back to her.

"Indeed they are, Teresa. By the way, did you put the earpiece around your ear?" he asked.

"Yep. And I brushed my hair over it so no one could see," she said, still keeping her voice in a whisper.

"Good girl. I'll walk to the back of the auditorium before I start transmitting. No one will see me. They'll all be concentrating on you and your natural beauty," said Patrick. His words made Teresa tingly all over.

Patrick cleared his throat to address the crowd.

"Enough of me and my ugly mug," he said. "Did you know that, in addition to being a rootin', tootin' comet-shootin' cute-as-a-button astronaut, Major Lisbon is also a psychic?" The audience ooohed and aaahed. "Indeed, she is. And I bet if we give her a round of applause she'll favor us with a reading."

Again the audience applauded as Patrick sauntered down the steps and walked to the back of the auditorium - leaving Teresa alone on-stage. When he reached the rear, he clipped his microphone to his jacket lapel. Flicking it on, he spoke.

" _Can you hear me, Teresa? Nod your head if you can."_

She nodded, then spoke to the crowd.

"For me to make a psychic reading, I need all of you to take a few moments to clear your minds."

Teresa looked at Patrick standing in the back of the auditorium. She saw him blink.

 _Boink._

Patrick held aloft a billfold so that only she could see it, then he spoke through his microphone to her.

" _You'll like this, Teresa. I got that Wescott guy's billfold. You know, the cheater we saw in the lobby with his girlfriend. Let's see what's in here. Just remember to do like we rehearsed. Here's a phone number for someone. It's for a veterinarian. Wow. Oh, this is good, really good. This guy owned a…"_ Patrick proceeded to feed her information about Mr. Wescott Buck. When he finished, he blinked the billfold back in the man's pocket.

Teresa held her right hand against her temple as if she were in deep thought. After a few seconds, she raised her head to look at the crowd. She smiled.

"I'm getting something. Someone in the crowd is named W-W-Weston? No, but it's something like that. Weston, Winston…Wescott. Yes, Wescott. Is there someone in here named Wescott?"

Wescott Buck stood up, his jaw jutting out in defiance.

"Right here, Major Lisbon," he said.

"Your last name starts with a 'B.'" She scrunched down her eyebrows as if she were fighting her way toward figuring out something. "'Buck.' Yes, 'Buck.' Is that your last name, Wescott?"

"Yeah. What of it? You could have found that out from a membership list," he said, his jutting jaw now accompanied by a sneer.

"I'm getting the name of someone close to you. Very close to you." Teresa said.

Brandee, sitting in the chair next to Wescott, stirred but he stilled her by putting his hand on her shoulder like someone would do with a dog.

"Brandee is _just_ my assistant." Everyone including Teresa could hear the emphasis in his voice when he said the word 'just.' The crowd murmured. Unbidden, his tone had betrayed their relationship. Brandee squirmed in her chair despite Wescott's hand still gripping her shoulder.

Teresa couldn't believe what the man had revealed. On top of that, she saw Brandee continue to twist and turn under Wescott's grasp. Looking to the back of the room, she saw Patrick cross his arms and scowl at the man.

 _My genie and I feel the exact same way_ , she thought. Despite her distaste for the man, she stayed with the routine that she and Patrick had practiced.

"That's not the name I'm getting. It's…it's…" she said.

Impatient, Wescott beat her to the punch line again.

"Carolyn? Carolyn is my wife," said Wescott.

Teresa saw Brandee tense when he mentioned his wife's name.

"No, I'm getting another name," said Teresa.

"Myla? Is it Myla?" the man asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

Teresa saw Brandee clinch her hands into fists. She shrugged Wescott's hand off her shoulder and jumped to her feet. Trembling with rage, Brandee shook her finger at him.

"Myla? Myla in the mailroom? You said I was the only one."

"Ah, come on Brandee. Myla doesn't mean a thing to me. Like my wife. She's just a passing fancy. You're the one I _really_ love," said Wescott.

"Go to hell," said Brandee.

 _Whap._ Brandee slapped Wescott then stomped out of the auditorium as audience members snickered. Wescott started to go after her but stopped. Waving his hand in a dismissive way, he turned back to the stage.

"Well, who was it, Major Lisbon? Someone named Helen? Tanya? Ruby? Ah, Ruby," said Wescott as he drifted off into his own world, no doubt thinking about Ruby.

"That wasn't the name I was getting. It was someone named Roger," said Teresa.

Jerking his head up, Wescott looked at her.

"You heard from Roger?" His eyes got big.

"Roger wasn't a person, was he?" said Teresa. "And he's no longer living - he died last year."

"Yes," said Wescott.

Teresa continued.

"Roger was...a snake. A python to be specific."

"Yes," said Wescott, the only word he could muster. He steadied himself by leaning on the back of a chair next to him. The mention of Roger riveted his attention.

"Roger has a message for you. He wants to say 'hi' and that he's okay," said Teresa.

"Roger can talk?" asked Wescott.

She nodded.

"All creatures can talk in the afterlife." Teresa rubbed her forehead as if she had returned to deep concentration. "I'm getting another message from him."

Wescott leaned forward.

"Well? What else did Roger say? You must tell me." He made a windmilling motion with his hand to show his impatience. It was obvious - this man cared more about his snake than about anyone else in his life.

"Roger also wants you to know that he wishes he'd eaten you when he had the chance," Teresa said.

The crowd roared, Wescott's face flushed, and Teresa winked at Patrick.

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Larry Boone, Paul Nelson and Gene Nelson wrote "Burnin' Old Memories," and Kathy Mattea recorded my favorite version. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic"

Up next: "So Near and Yet So Far"


	8. So Near and Yet So Far

Author's notes:

 _I enjoyed writing this "date night" chapter in the story._

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 8: So Near and Yet So Far**

* * *

Have you felt left out even when you were in a group?

Teresa sat with Grace, Wayne, Kimball, and Summer at a four-seat table with her fifth chair shoe-horned in at the end. The two couples had wanted to treat her to dinner ever since she came back. Now here she was at Chez Henri, the best restaurant in town, the center of attention yet somehow alone at the same time.

Having poured out some wine for everyone at the table, Wayne stood up and raised his glass.

"I propose a toast to our guest of honor tonight for what she achieved. Think for a moment how unbelievable it is. Without her raising a ruckus, we'd never have gotten bar-b-q-flavored potato chips back on the menu in the GSA cafeteria. Oh, and changing the course of that comet thingy too."

Everyone laughed as they clinked their glasses together.

Just as the group began to scan their menus, a clipped voice cut through the air and made Teresa's skin crawl.

"Well. Look who's here. The celebrity."

Of all the possible people to patronize Chez Henri tonight, why did _she_ have to show up?

Teresa replied without turning in her chair to see the new arrival.

"Erica. I didn't expect to run into you." Putting off eye contact as long as she could, Teresa only looked around after she spoke. The sight she beheld still made her nauseous.

Erica Flynn, fellow astronaut, part-time gold-digger, and full-time predator, cast a glance toward Teresa that would burn holes through steel.

"Nor I you. You all look like you're having fun." Erica made a quick survey of the whole group. "Well, at least four of the five of you. Why so glum, Teresa?"

"I am not glum," said Teresa in a voice that failed to support her words.

"I heard that you and Marcus Pike called it quits. What a shame. You went well together. Like pancakes and syrup."

The way that Erica's lips curved upwards ever so slightly when she said that made Teresa want to slap her.

"It was for the best," said Teresa.

Erica shrugged.

"Whatever you say. I do hope you can find someone to replace him. I know how hard you try."

"What the…" Teresa didn't complete her sentence. Grace grasped her elbow and squeezed hard.

In the meantime, a man dressed in a suit that would cost a year's pay for an astronaut sidled up beside Erica.

"Hey, babe. I got us table by the window. Ready to go?" He put his arm around Erica's waist. In response, she planted a kiss on his lips.

"You did well, Brad." Erica turned her attention back to Teresa. "Well, we gotta go. So sorry to hear about your romantic foibles."

After Erica and her latest sugar daddy left, Wayne spoke up.

"So, you and Pike…"

Teresa cut off Wayne before he could complete his thought.

"Yeah. What of it?" She glared at him.

"Uh, nothing. Nothing at all," said a chastened Wayne.

Grace stood up abruptly.

"Come with me." Grace motioned for Teresa to follow her into the lobby. Once they found a quiet corner, she spoke. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," said Teresa, although an empty feeling overwhelmed her.

"You and I both know you're better off without Pancake Man."

Teresa couldn't help but laugh at the title Grace gave Marcus, but soon enough her blue mood returned.

"I feel alone."

Grace gave her a sharp look.

"So said the woman with her own personal genie."

Teresa glanced around them.

"Don't talk so loudly. Someone might hear."

"Ever since you split up with Marcus, you're always saying 'Patrick blinked up the best casserole I ever ate' or 'Patrick decorated the house with a thousand roses' or 'Patrick and I spent the afternoon walking in the park.' Whenever you say his name, you smile. So where is he tonight?"

"At home in the attic. I told him to take the night off." Truth be told, Teresa had spent all of her free time these last few weeks with Patrick. As much as she enjoyed his company, she feared that she would tire him out. Hence the break.

"Why?" asked Grace.

"I thought he deserved some time to himself."

"You should have told him to come with you."

"He's my genie, not my slave."

"Had you ever thought he might _want_ to come with you tonight? Get to spend time with you and your friends?" Grace put her hands on her hips. "Here's some unsolicited advice. Conjure him up right now, dressed for a date. The kind of date Erica Flynn could only dream about."

Teresa stammered for a moment but gave up. Could Grace be right? Maybe she should follow her friend's advice. Teresa pulled out her cell phone and called a now-familiar number. Patrick answered on the first ring.

" _Teresa, you called! How is your evening going with your friends? I want to hear all about it."_

"What are you doing?" she asked.

" _I found a list on the Internet of what some guy thinks are the one hundred greatest books ever written. I've been working my way through the list, up to number eighty-seven now."_

"Why don't you take a break? Why don't you come join us? As my guest."

" _Are you commanding me to?"_ asked Patrick.

"No. It's an invitation, not a summons. You don't have to come if you don't…" Teresa couldn't finish her sentence as her call clicked off.

 _Boink._

A familiar figure clad in flowing white robes appeared beside Teresa and Grace. Patrick glanced around him then looked at the two women. In response to Teresa's smile, he enveloped her in a hug.

"Thank you for inviting me."

Grace mouthed out, "See, I told you so" to Teresa.

Patrick's hearing of course picked up what Grace said, and he hugged her as well.

"Thank you, Grace Van Pelt. Thank you for encouraging Teresa invite me."

"Teresa, you probably should have Patrick wear a different outfit. Flowing robes is not the normal look at Chez Henri," said Grace.

Teresa nodded.

"Why don't you conjure up something a little more appropriate?" she asked him.

"You mean like in those magazines you have on the coffee table at home?" asked Patrick.

"Yeah, something like that."

He blinked.

 _Boink._

Patrick stood before them in a bright blue t-shirt under a navy jacket with designer jeans.

Grace shook her head.

"That looks too much like a male model at a photo shoot. Try something else."

Patrick looked to Teresa, and she nodded her agreement.

 _Boink._

Now he stood before them in a gray-striped formal morning suit with a light gray derby perched atop his head at a rakish angle. The blond curls of his hair peeked out underneath.

"He looks like he's going to a horse show, Teresa," said Grace.

"What about that three-piece suit you wore the night that Marcus and I broke up?" When she said that, it dawned on Teresa that it didn't hurt one bit to talk about Marcus in the past tense.

 _Boink._

"What do you think, Teresa?"

He stood before them in his light blue, vested suit. As Teresa cast a glance over Patrick from head to toe, she nodded in approval. Until she got to his feet. He was wearing a pair of white canvas athletic shoes. Teresa looked back up at his face.

"I like everything except the shoes. They're not working for me," she said.

For an instant, Patrick looked disappointed but he rallied.

 _Boink._

The shoes changed to a pair of brown dress shoes.

"How do these look?" he asked as he pointed downward.

"Polish them," said Teresa.

 _Boink._

The sheen on his shoes was now so bright you could see your reflection.

"Perfect, Patrick. Remember that you need to be a man of mystery - that's the best way to handle things."

"You're her date," said Grace as she patted his shoulder.

"Shall we go in and meet my friends?" asked Teresa.

"Anything for you, Teresa," he said.

As the three of them walked into the dining area, Teresa squeezed his arm and whispered to him.

"You should enjoy yourself tonight."

"I will because I'll be with you," he replied.

When they got to the table, the other three sat jaws agape as Patrick pulled up a chair beside Teresa. He surveyed the crowd like he owned the place. Rubbing Teresa's shoulder, Patrick cleared his throat.

"Sorry I'm late folks. I'm Patrick Jane." He looked at everyone around the table. "By the surprise on your faces, I'm guessing that Teresa didn't tell you I was coming. Blame me. I got caught up in my work, but that's no excuse to keep her waiting. I hope you'll forgive me. Most of all, I hope she forgives me." He glanced at Teresa. "Business deals come and go, but all of them pale compared to any hour, any minute, any second spent with this wonderful woman. I curse my time spent away from her."

Wayne, Kimball, and Summer continued to stare wide-eyed at Patrick as he stroked Teresa's arm.

"So, what kind of business are you in?" asked Wayne.

Patrick raised a finger to his lips in a shushing motion.

"What I do is discreet. Very discreet. You understand that I can't talk about tech stock IPOs in public." He smiled at Teresa. "Let's just leave it that I've been cooped up somewhere waiting for a certain call. And then Teresa phoned. I'm powerless to resist her charm. So here I am."

"Wow" was the only word Wayne could muster.

Patrick scanned the people at the table.

"I've already gotten to meet Grace." He looked at Wayne. "You must be Wayne Rigsby, Grace's husband. May I compliment you two? The word 'Grace' certainly fits for your wife. Ever since I met her, I've pestered her for every bit of information she has about my Teresa. Your wife has been most grace-ious about filling me in. What I've learned about the two of you from Teresa is that you're the dynamic duo of the GSA, the first married couple to orbit in the space station."

Wayne snorted.

"I kept trying to convince Grace that going to the space station was our second honeymoon. But we had no privacy during the entire mission. None. We were hooked up to medical sensors the whole time."

"At least the view was nice," said Grace.

Patrick shifted his attention to Summer.

"And you must be Summer Edgecombe. I've wanted to meet you so I could thank you for taking such good care of Teresa. Knowing that you're her physician makes me rest easier." He stroked Teresa's arm some more. "And she's worth every bit of your expert attention."

Summer looked at Teresa before she spoke.

"I'm like Wayne. Wow."

Patrick turned his attention to Kimball.

"And you must be Kimball Cho. May I share a secret with you? When Teresa said that you were the best-read member of the astronaut corps, I told her I had to meet you. What do you normally read?"

"A bit of everything. I took all of last month to read _War and Peace_."

"You and I are kindred spirits. I read _War and Peace_ as well."

Kimball warmed to Patrick.

"When?"

"This morning," said Patrick.

Kimball crooked up an eyebrow, which Teresa had come to know was his sign that something shocked him. Glancing at Patrick, she saw that he noticed that as well. He shrugged.

"I've worked on my speed reading," said Patrick. "You can understand, can't you? There's so many good books in the world. Why dilly-dally?"

"I agree." Kimball nodded then looked at Teresa. "This guy's a winner. Where have you been hiding him?"

Before she could reply, Patrick did.

"She's keeps me in the attic and only brings me out on special occasions." Patrick winked which caused everyone at the table to laugh.

And so it went. Patrick Jane, the perfect dinner guest, brought everyone into the conversation with a well-placed question, a keen observation, or rapt silence as he listened to one of the others around the table. Of course when it was his turn to talk, he supplied the funny story, the witty remark, or the clever insight.

After they had finished their meal, the three women left the table for a few minutes. When they got off by themselves, Summer turned to Teresa.

"Why have you been keeping him under wraps? He's like that guy in those beer commercials. You know, 'the Most Interesting Man in the World.'"

"You don't the half of it from what Teresa tells me," said Grace.

"Kimball and I were worried about you when you broke up with Pike. Not any more," said Summer.

As the three women made their way back to the table, they heard voices singing along with the band. Something about the voices sounded familiar to Teresa. When they got back to the open area of the restaurant, she stopped cold.

Patrick, Wayne, and Kimball were standing beside the band singing along with "Hallelujah, I Love Her So." Instead of sounding like a bunch of drunks on Karaoke night at a bar, the three men all held a tune and harmonized. The musicians, led by the pianist, enjoyed their guests too, playing with gusto to accompany them. The women approached as the last notes of the band faded. The crowd in the restaurant applauded, and the guys sheepishly took a bow. Patrick grabbed a microphone and spoke for them.

"Thank you, you're too kind. You've heard of 'The Three Tenors'? Kimball, Wayne, and I are 'The Three Tin-Ears.'" The crowd laughed, and Patrick spied the women's return. He huddled with Wayne, Kimball, and the piano player for a moment. Then he grabbed the microphone again. "If you'll permit me, I've got a special song for a special lady. It's an old standard, and I hope you enjoy it - 'So Near and Yet So Far.'"

 _Boink._

The three guys and the band performed a flawless version of the song, not a wrong note struck. Patrick took the lead and focused his gaze on Teresa. At the end of the song, the crowd applauded with even greater gusto, and once again the guys took their awkward bows. Patrick grasped the microphone a final time.

"To borrow a phrase from the lyrics, that song was for our own 'radiant star,' Major Teresa Lisbon." He raised his hand in her direction.

The crowd turned to look at Teresa and gave her a standing ovation.

When the women rejoined the men and the six of them sat down at the table again, Summer crossed her arms.

"Okay, you guys have to 'fess up." She stared at Kimball. "You three were all in a boy band together growing up, weren't you?"

"I didn't even know I knew those songs until we sang them," said Wayne.

"Me either," said Kimball.

Patrick patted the two men on their shoulders.

"You guys are just natural talents," Patrick said as he waggled his eyes at Teresa.

After the best night out Teresa had ever had, the group walked through the lobby towards the front door of the restaurant. With a feather-like touch, Patrick placed his left hand around her waist. She looked at him and saw pure pleasure in his eyes. In response, she reached her right arm around his back to pat him. Their eyes met, and the same feeling of kinship they shared so often now returned.

"Well. You weren't alone tonight after all."

Erica Flynn's clipped words hit Teresa like a bucket of cold water. She looked up to see Erica and her latest conquest walking beside them. Of all the times for Erica to be leaving, why did it have to be at the same time they were?

"My date ran late," she said.

Teresa saw Patrick glancing first at her, then at Erica, then back at her. Once more, the two of them communicated without words. A smile curled across his lips. With a discreet move, he rubbed Teresa's back. Somehow that made her relax.

"And let me tell you something ma'am. I couldn't get here fast enough. She's like the sun and I'm a planet in orbit around her." Patrick brought his hand to Teresa's cheek, lowered his face to hers, and bussed her lips. In another instant, he pulled back from her and addressed Erica. "Isn't she great?"

"Uhh, yeah." For once, something had flummoxed Erica so badly that she stumbled on her words.

"Well, if you'll excuse us, we need to be going," said Patrick and they exited.

The whole drive home Teresa and Patrick chattered about the evening. Instead of the melancholy that draped her mood earlier, she felt invigorated. Listening to Patrick's tone of voice, she heard a man enthralled.

Teresa hated for the night to end, but too soon they arrived back at the house. Once inside, she pulled Patrick into a hug.

"Thank you for a lovely evening, Patrick. You were so convincing that we fooled everyone. For one evening, I felt like a princess. Not an angry little princess but a happy one." She laughed but he kept a serious expression on his face.

He kissed the top of her head.

"I was convincing because I was honest. Good night, Teresa."

Patrick walked up the stairs to the attic and took Teresa's heart with him.

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Cole Porter wrote "So Near and Yet So Far." While Fred Astaire recorded at least two fine versions, my favorite is Ella Fitzgerald's on her album _Dream Dancing_. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic"

Up next: "Willow Weep For Me"


	9. Willow Weep For Me

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 9: Willow Weep For Me**

* * *

Patrick Jane stood in the driveway of Teresa Lisbon's house waving at her as she pulled her car out onto the street. Before leaving, the two of them had lowered the roof on her convertible so she could enjoy the breeze while driving to work. On impulse, she blew him a kiss. Laughing, he mimicked catching it and placing it on his cheek. When she got to the end of the block, Teresa looked in her rear view mirror to see Patrick stretching his body at an angle to catch a last glimpse of her turning at the intersection.

Every day lately brought some new joy to her, and Patrick was the source.

Teresa brimmed over with good cheer. On her way over to the GSA headquarters, the crisp air invigorated her like it never had before. When she'd gotten the message that the GSA Director had returned from sick leave and wanted to see her, her mind raced to all sorts of outcomes.

After she parked her car, her phone beeped with a text. Looking at it made her smile: _"What is that in ur pocket?"_ Reaching into her jacket, she felt a piece of paper. She pulled it out to behold an origami swan. At once, she texted back to Jane: " _Something sweet. Thx._ "

As Teresa walked down the corridor at the GSA headquarters, Assistant Director Virgil Minelli sidled up. With a grin, he fell in beside her. An older man, although he'd cuss you out if you ever referred to him that way, Minelli picked up their pace.

"You're going to the meeting too?" she asked.

"When my best astronaut gets called in, I wanna be there."

"Why the hurry, Virgil?"

"You may have saved the world, Lisbon, but don't keep the Director waiting."

"Do you know something I don't?"

"I'm guessing it has something to do with these." Minelli tapped the insignia on her uniform. "Don't you think a promotion is in order, _Major_?"

"I was just doing my job," she said.

"If the Director offers you a promotion, please do me a favor. Don't reply to him with that line. Just answer him with 'Thank you.'"

"Is that an order?"

"I prefer to think of that as career advice," said Virgil with a wink. "Speaking of orders though, Mae instructed me to remind you that she wants you to come over for dinner with us. And sooner rather than later."

"So you won't give me an order but your wife will?"

Virgil snorted and changed the subject.

"Grace told me you dropped Pancake Man."

Teresa meant to scowl at Virgil, but the hint of smile formed on her lips instead.

"Neither of you should call Marcus 'Pancake Man.' He's a go…"

"I know, I know. He's a good man. Do yourself a favor, Teresa. When you come over for dinner with us, bring along a guy worthy of you. Don't settle for 'good' when you deserve 'great.'"

When they turned the corner in the hallway that led to the Director's office, they got a surprise. General Dennis Abbott, the Chief of Security, stood outside the office door. He looked up at Teresa and Virgil with a blank expression.

"Do either of you know why I'm here? The Director told me to drop whatever I was doing and get here pronto."

Teresa and Virgil looked at each other with blank stares.

"No idea," said Virgil.

At the moment, the door opened and the three of them beheld the haggard face of the Director. Right before Teresa's mission to the Volker 516 comet, the Director took ill and went home. Virgil had taken charge at mission control, and the rest was history. Although she never said anything out loud to anyone, Teresa welcomed Virgil being in charge instead of the Director. She'd always had a prickly relationship with the man, unlike the fatherly mentoring that Virgil offered.

"You're looking better…" Virgil started to address the Director but got cut off.

"Shut up and get in here. I don't have time to waste on this confab." The Director's sharp demand made Virgil flinch.

The three guests walked in, and the Director shut the door behind them.

"Don't bother taking a seat. This won't take that long." The Director stood with his hands on his hips in front of Teresa while he glared at her. "If you read the news stories, you're supposed to be a hero. You're not. Everyone including me is supposed to be awed in your presence. I'm not. Rumors are flying around that you'll get a promotion. You won't."

"Sir…" Teresa tried to speak but the Director wouldn't let her.

"And reports have it that since you came back from space you've been carrying on with some crazy man at home and around town morning, noon, and night. That reflects poorly on the astronaut corps."

"What's going on here? You have no reason to criticize Major Lisbon like that." Virgil spat his words out.

The Director shifted his glare from Teresa to Virgil.

"So said the man who helped her cover up all the mistakes she made during her flight."

"Mistakes?" asked Virgil.

"It was a miracle that the comet got deflected with all the problems on the SD-1," said the Director.

"Exactly. It was due to Teresa's skill that she accomplished the mission and got back."

"It was due to Lisbon's incompetence that the mission almost failed."

"You know that's not true."

"You act like you're taking this personally."

"I resent what you're implying," said Virgil.

The Director sneered.

"No, I overstated the case. You're too bumbling and she's too clueless to have an affair. Too bad, Virgil. You would have made a fine couple."

The Director walked behind his desk before Virgil could react.

"Take that back," Virgil's face got red.

"Shut up. The reason I brought the three of you here is to announce Major Lisbon's career plans. Because of the mis-guided acclaim she's received, I can't fire her. But I can remove her from having anything to do with space flight. Come Monday, she starts a new assignment. Her office will be in Annex Q."

"Annex Q? That's at the edge of the complex, sir," said Teresa.

"Brilliant observation, Lisbon." The Director sneered at her. "I'm glad you're familiar with its location. You'll have a desk shoe-horned in by the motor pool." He handed a set of orders to General Abbott. "General Abbott. You are to escort Major Lisbon back to her current office. See to it that she packs up all her belongings. You will then transport all her knick-knacks and trinkets to her new desk in Annex Q."

"Why do I need to supervise Major Lisbon cleaning out her desk?" asked Abbott.

"Because when she's finished moving, I want a report on my desk confirming that. Do you understand?" the Director said.

"No, sir. I don't understand any of this," said Abbott.

"Which is why you're stuck where you are, Abbott - your lack of understanding and your reluctance to carry out orders. But rest assured, I will make you carry out this order."

"What job am I going to, Director?" Teresa asked as her lower lip quivered with a mix of rage and humiliation.

"Henceforth Major Lisbon, you will be in charge of solid waste removal from returning space craft, a job well-suited to your limited talent."

"You mean I'll…" Before the words left her mouth, the Director cut her off.

"What I mean Major Lisbon is that from now on you'll be shoveling shit."

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Ann Ronell wrote "Willow Weep For Me," and Ella Fitzgerald recorded my favorite version on her album _Hello Love_. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic"

Up next: "I Don't Have To Be Me 'Til Monday


	10. I Don't Have to Be Me 'Til Monday

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 10: I Don't Have To Be Me 'Til Monday**

* * *

In a few moments, the Director's door slammed shut on Teresa Lisbon's face. Teresa, Virgil Minelli, and Dennis Abbott all stood in the hallway again. The two men looked as bewildered as she felt.

"What was that about?" asked Abbott.

"It makes no sense, Dennis," said Virgil as he scratched his head. "Teresa saved all of us. We wouldn't be here without her heroics. You and I both know that."

Abbott sighed.

"Agreed. What the Director said was bizarre, but I've still got to follow orders." The general looked at Teresa. "I'm sorry, Major. I have to supervise your moving out of your office."

"Understood, sir," she said. Really though, she didn't understand anything about what happened.

For the rest of her day, Teresa Lisbon moved in a daze. When she and Abbott got to her office, she grabbed some empty boxes and began packing her things. While fighting the emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, they boxed her belongings and loaded them in Abbott's car in a pouring rain.

Driving to the edge of the GSA complex, they passed by all the launch buildings, training grounds, and landing fields she had come to know well. Teresa stared out of the passenger side window as raindrops pelted the windshield. The gray sky matched her mood, and Abbott was smart enough not to say anything until they reached a small tin-roofed, pre-fab structure at the far end of the complex.

"Major Lisbon? This is Annex Q."

Teresa shook out of her daze, nodded, and walked in with Abbott. Once inside, a young man speaking in a voice that cracked with insecurity rose from his desk to meet them.

"Major Lisbon. My name's Henry. I'm your assistant. Don't worry, most of the time we don't have much to do around here. Things only get hectic when a spacecraft returns, and then we've got to hurry to clear out all the waste from the refuse tanks. If you'll pardon me using some coarse language, everyone calls it shoveling…"

"I know what they call it," said Teresa, cutting him off.

"Ma'am, when I heard you were coming, I got some office supplies together for you. Now you've got everything except a stapler."

"A stapler?" Teresa asked.

"Yeah, the one we had was busted. I've called Sargent Phelps about going by the warehouse to get you a new one. You should have it by next Tuesday."

"That's nice of you to do that, Henry."

"Yes, ma'am. Normally it would take longer, but we're cutting through all the normal red-tape since it's for you," said Henry.

With the help of both Henry and General Abbott, Teresa got everything squared away in twenty minutes. Once they finished, Teresa looked around at her new office - a metal desk with a streak of rust running up one leg, a vinyl chair with some foam spilling out from a gash in seat, and a bulletin board with a yellowed 10-year-old poster about recycling tacked to it.

"Major Lisbon?"

Teresa turned her attention to the general.

"According to the orders I have, you're not supposed to report to work until Monday. If you'd like, I'll give you a lift back to your car," said Abbott.

Teresa nodded.

"Ma'am, it was good meeting you," said Henry. "And don't you worry. By Tuesday, well, uh, by Wednesday at the latest, we'll have that stapler for you. I'll make sure of that."

"You're very kind, Henry," she said.

Teresa and Abbott drove in silence back to her car. Once there, she bid goodbye and started to get out. Abbott grasped her arm before she could exit.

"Major Lisbon, I'm concerned about this situation. Minelli is too. While you were getting situated, he and I talked. We're going to do some investigating."

Still numb from all that had happened, she nodded.

"Thank you, sir."

"In the meantime, you should go home and try to relax. We'll be in touch."

The ride home differed so much from that morning. Instead of an outlook that could float across a spring breeze, now a mix of despair, gloom, and anger poisoned her soul. Her body hunched over toward the steering wheel and her foot felt almost too weak to press against the accelerator pedal. Her normal short trip between work and home seemed to stretch into an eternity.

When Teresa got home, she wanted to go inside, shut the door, and retreat from a world she no longer understood. No such luck though. The two cars parked in front of her house meant that solitude would elude her. The Rigsby's minivan and Cho's Jeep signaled that they'd already heard the news.

Walking in, she beheld the long faces of everyone - Grace, Wayne, Kimball…and her genie. _At least Patrick is wearing jeans and a sports jacket_ , thought Teresa as spied him. She saw Grace glance at Patrick then nod toward Teresa, a silent confirmation that her genie still hadn't revealed who he really was to the men.

Grace moved quickly across the floor to envelope Teresa in a hug. The others walked over to pat her on the back as tears began to fall from her eyes.

"We couldn't believe what the Director did to you. He's wrong about you. We all know it." Grace squeezed her tight as she spoke.

"It's total bullsh…" said Wayne but he couldn't finish his thought.

"Something's really messed up," said Kimball.

Teresa pushed back from her friends and wiped her eyes with her sleeve.

"You don't need to be around me. I'm bad luck. Steer clear," Teresa said.

"We don't believe that for a minute," said Grace.

"Come with us. We're going over to O'Malley's for a beer. You'll feel better. You and Patrick can go dancing there," said Wayne.

Teresa shook her head.

"You guys go on. I need to be alone."

Now she felt another set of arms envelope her.

"I'm so sorry. Please let me comfort you," said Patrick.

At that point, Teresa remembered what the Director had said to her about the "crazy man." She would always regret the next words that came out of her mouth, but the anger that bubbled up inside her exploded.

"Patrick Jane, you just add to my problems. It's bad enough to get blamed for mistakes on the job. You've ruined my private life too."

"You can't mean that," he said.

"I can and I do. I wish you were out of my life."

"No! Please don't say that, Teresa."

Teresa scanned the sheepish faces of the others.

"You know what? I don't want to go out tonight. But you go, Patrick. You go out drinking with your new buddies. Just don't come back."

"Teresa, I just want to be with you," said Patrick.

"But _I_ don't want to be with you. All you do is cause trouble,"

"You can't really think that,"

Teresa shook her index finger at Patrick.

"Don't you dare tell me what I can and cannot think." She spat out her words, not caring what the others thought. "I want you to go out and leave me alone." She saw him start to speak up but waved him off. "You're going with them to O'Malley's, and you're going to dance with the first woman who asks you. Forget about me. Do you understand?"

"No, I don't understand."

Teresa crossed her arms.

"Let me make this clear. I _wish_ you to forget about me. Now go."

Patrick hung his head low.

"Yes, Teresa."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Grace motion for the boys to take Patrick on while she stayed behind. Once the men closed the door behind them, Grace wheeled around to face Teresa, her eyes on fire.

"What was that all about?"

"My life is a shambles, and according to the Director, some 'crazy man' contributed to my downfall. Any guesses about _who_ he meant?"

"Minelli told us about the meeting. He says something's not right."

"I'll tell you what's not right. Having a genie disrupt my life is not right."

Grace grabbed Teresa's arm.

"Sure Patrick has made some mistakes, but he's made you happier than you've ever been since I've known you."

"But, but."

"No buts, Teresa. You know I'm right. And what did you do to him?"

She didn't want to answer, but Grace's insistent tone compelled her to.

"I-I-I pushed him away."

"Did you see the look his face as he walked out the door? You tore his heart in two," said Grace.

"But he's turned my life topsy-turvy since I found him."

"He's the best thing that's ever come into your life. And now that you're at a low point and he wants to do nothing more than comfort you, what did you do?"

"I-I-I sent him away."

"Yeah. But not only that, you told him to…"

Teresa slumped.

"I told him to dance with the first woman who asked him and to forget me. I wished him to." Teresa grabbed Grace's arm as the gravity of what she said dawned on her. "I've got to get to Patrick before it's too late. Take me to O'Malley's."

* * *

When Teresa and Grace got to O'Malley's, they found a full-house. People even spilled out onto the sidewalk in front waiting to get in. When the two women approached the bouncer at the door, his mouth fell into an "O" shape when he recognized them.

"Please enter, ladies," he said as he stepped aside for them.

Once inside, the two women craned their necks to peer out over the crowd. Teresa strained to see any familiar face. Since Grace was taller, she had a better view and in a few moments grasped Teresa's elbow.

"I see Wayne and Kimball at a table in the corner."

"Lead on," said Teresa as both hope and fear welled in her heart.

What Teresa saw when they got over to the small circular table were two glum men sitting on stools. Beside them was a third vacant stool.

"Where's Patrick?" Teresa asked.

"He left," said Kimball.

Hope surged inside Teresa.

"We like your new friend. You shouldn't have told him off like that," said Wayne. "He's a good guy."

"I know. I came to apologize. Do you know where he went off to?"

Kimball pointed to the dance floor.

"Yeah. He's out there. Erica Flynn came over and pulled him away from us."

Now fear surged inside Teresa. Almost afraid to look, she scanned the dance floor. Then she froze. Holding each other, Patrick and Erica twirled around faster and faster.

"No!" Teresa's scream reached above the thud-thud-thud of the rhythm of the music. Her arms waving in the air, she ran forward. "Patrick."

Turning his head away from Erica, Patrick's gaze met Teresa's. Was she too late? Had he followed her last wish? Had he forgotten her? After a moment's hesitation, he yelled.

"Teresa." His voice cut through the din of noise.

At the same time Patrick called out to her, he released his grasp of Erica. The woman flew through the air, hurtling above the other dancers on the floor. _Thwap._ Erica's backside slammed against the far wall, and she sagged butt-first into a trash can. Her arms flailing, she tipped the can over and her body tumbled out, covered in stale beer, half-eaten pretzels, and globs of nacho cheese. Teresa heard him call out to the woman.

"Uhhh, sorry, Erica. Gotta go. Enjoyed the dance," Patrick said as he ran over to Teresa.

When he got over to her, he broke into a smile which prompted Teresa to return one of her own.

"You remembered who I am," she said.

He got a sheepish look on his face.

"I'm a defective genie. I guess I can't obey everything you tell me to do. There was no way I was ever going to forget you, no matter what you told me to do."

Teresa reached over to stroke his chin.

"I was wrong," she said.

"Please don't ever tell me to do that again. I hated every minute of that," he said, motioning over his shoulder at Erica as the woman, her clothes in tatters, stumbled toward the exit. "I don't want to dance with anybody but you. I don't want to be with anybody but you."

"I won't do that again," she said. "I wish you to blink us home right now."

"With pleasure."

 _Boink._

Teresa found that now they stood in the middle of her living room. She placed her hands on his chest.

"I don't start my new assignment until next week," Teresa said. "I don't have to report to anyone, I don't have to do anything, I don't have to conform to anyone else's dictates. I don't have to be _me_ again until Monday."

"So what are you saying, Teresa?" asked Patrick.

"This weekend I don't want to be Major Teresa Lisbon."

"Oh?"

"This weekend, I just want us to be Patrick and Teresa."

"Really?" asked Patrick as his eyes widened.

"Really. It's your choice. I give you permission to do whatever you want to…"

Teresa didn't get to finish what she was saying thanks to Patrick's lips covering hers. His arms encircled her, and he pulled her close while he deepened their kiss. For her part, Teresa draped her arms around his shoulders and matched his passion. In fact, she didn't say anything else for a long, long time…

 _Boink._

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

R.C. Bannon, Jason Young, and Steve Azar wrote "I Don't Have To Be Me ('Til Monday), and Azar recorded it for his album _Waitin' On Joe_. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic"

Up next: "All Over the Road." Special note: For a long time, I've wanted to write a Jane-and-Lisbon scene in a story based on the lyrics of the song "All Over the Road," and that's coming up in the next chapter. If you're familiar with the song, you can already picture what happens.


	11. All Over the Road

Author's notes:

 _I enjoyed writing a "Patrick and Teresa spend the day together" chapter where a certain 1930 Cadillac V-16 figures prominently, and I also wanted to write a scene inspired by events in the song that gives this chapter its title._

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 11: All Over the Road**

* * *

 _The next morning…_

Patrick Jane walked up the sidewalk to Teresa Lisbon's house carrying a cup of coffee for her in his right hand and a cup of tea for himself in his left. Could he have just blinked up a cup for her? Of course. But he'd noted that she liked the special blend at the cafe two blocks over. So while she stayed behind to get dressed for the day, he took stroll to get her favorite brew and enjoy the bright sunshine.

As he climbed the steps on the front porch, he noticed a box. While he was gone, Teresa must have set it out there. Making a note to ask about it later, he rapped on the door.

The door opened and a beautiful smile greeted him.

"Your coffee, madam. Just the way you like it," he said. "It's beautiful morning. Do you want to sit out here and enjoy it?"

"Yeah. Push that stuff to the side," she said, pointing at the box. "All of it needs to go in the garage. It's from my old office at the GSA. No room for it in the new one."

The two of them took their seats on the steps.

"I'll blink the box into the garage if you like." He saw her nod at his words.

Teresa took in a deep breath of the morning air and cast a shy glance at Patrick.

"This is nice. Us. Together," she said.

He leaned over to kiss her.

"It is. This is the best I've felt since…" He shrugged his shoulders. "…well, you can guess."

"This feels good for me too," said Teresa as she wrapped her arm around his.

Turning his attention to the box beside him, Patrick lifted out a model car.

"Huh. Vintage auto?" he asked.

Teresa brightened.

"It was a graduation gift from my grandfather. It was his favorite, so it's mine too. A scale model 1930 Cadillac V-16," she said.

"You want to go for a drive today?" he asked.

"Sure," she said.

Pulling her keys out of her pocket, she began to walk to the garage, but he stopped her.

"Not your car. This one," he said as he walked over to the driveway and set down the model car.

"What?" she asked as she crooked an eyebrow.

 _Boink._

In a flash the model transformed into a real 1930 Cadillac V-16.

 _Boink._

Patrick blinked a key into his hand and tossed it to Teresa.

"Let's go for a spin."

* * *

As they were walking to the car, Teresa's phone chirped. On the screen she saw a message from Virgil: _"Abbott + I know u mistreated. Invstgtng."_ She looked up to find Patrick staring at her with concern.

"Who was it," he asked.

"Virgil Minelli, my boss. Uh, I mean my former boss. He and General Abbott think something's wrong about my situation. They're investigating."

"They sound like good people if you ask me. Good judges of character."

Teresa bit her lip before she spoke again.

"Virgil and his wife Mae invited me to dinner at their house. They want me to bring a date. Can I tell 'em you're coming?"

"Anything for you, Teresa. I'd be honored," said Patrick. Then he got a distant look in his eyes. "I'm not looking forward to your going back to being Major Teresa Lisbon."

She rubbed his shoulder. As they stood beside the car, he opened the driver's door for her. She drew his lips to hers for a kiss before getting in.

"Who says I have to go back, at least as far as you're concerned? I don't want to. Do you?"

"Never," he said as she saw a grin spread across his face.

Teresa fired up the engine, took a moment to familiarize herself with the clutch, and eased out of the driveway.

While they drove through the countryside, everyone they passed stopped to gawk at them. A carload of teens driving the other way tooted their horn and waved. When they stopped at a park to eat a picnic lunch, some tourists who recognized Teresa made her picture standing beside the car.

As they finished their lunch, Teresa heard her phone chirp again. Both she and Patrick peered at the screen and found a second message from Minelli: _"SD-1 gone from hanger. Abbott + I checking."_

"That's your spacecraft, isn't it?" asked Patrick.

"Yeah. Normally it'd be in storage. It's not scheduled for a new mission for the next six months."

Patrick put his hand on her shoulder.

"Do you think something's wrong?"

She shook her head.

"Most likely someone took it out for maintenance. Remember, that was a rough flight I had." Teresa decided for once to block any concerns out of her mind. "Anyway, Virgil and Abbott will find out what's going on. I'm sure it's entirely innocent. Besides, worrying about the SD-1 isn't part of my job any more." Teresa reached over to run her fingers through Patrick's blond curls. "You wanna drive now?"

Patrick's face flashed a look of surprise.

"Really?" he asked.

"Really." Teresa punctuated her reply by placing the car key in his hand. "We're out here in the middle of nowhere. No cars, no traffic. No one else is around. Don't you think you can handle it?"

His face rallied in an instant at her words. His confident air now back, Patrick stood.

"Let's get going," he said with a gleam in his eyes as he entwined his fingers with hers.

The pair walked to the car, he opened the passenger door for her, and giving a loving look at the key, he circled around to the driver's side.

* * *

"No! You're over-compensating. Get off the gravel. You're not supposed to drive on the shoulder of the road," said Teresa from the passenger seat.

"Okay. Here goes."

"No. Stay in the middle. The middle of the lane. The MIDDLE! Don't go over the yellow line."

"What yellow line?" asked Patrick.

"The one that you're straddling right now. That marks the lane you should stay inside of."

"Now I understand," said Patrick.

 _Woooooooooooooooooo. Wooooo. Wooooo. Woooooooooooooooooo._

The sound of a siren made Teresa freeze. Looking over at Patrick, she saw him grip the steering wheel like a vise. Behind them a state trooper's cruiser flashed its blue lights.

"Okay. Stay calm. Just ease the car over to the side of the road," said Teresa.

"How's this?" he asked as he pulled to a stop.

"Good. Now blink up a driver's license," said Teresa as she looked in the rearview mirror to see a short, stocky state trooper get out of his cruiser.

"What's that?" Patrick asked.

"Driver's license. It's what you need to operate one of these things."

"I didn't know you needed one of those," he said.

Teresa glanced back. The trooper was halfway to their car now, ticket pad in hand.

"He's almost here. We've got to figure out something," she said.

* * *

State Trooper Rick Tork loved deserted country roads. Technically he could still be on duty "patrolling" while he parked his cruiser behind a billboard. Then he could eat his lunch in peace. And there was no better place to park than on Maple Lane. During this hour of the day he could count the number of cars and trucks that passed by him on one hand. The only people who used the road then were farmers and delivery drivers.

Until now.

Tork's mouth froze mid-chew, and he dropped his half-eaten bologna sandwich on the floor board of his cruiser. An antique Cadillac in mint condition weaved down the road, a little bit to the left then a little bit to the right. As much as he wanted to ignore the scene, he couldn't. Why would a drunk drive a high-priced, vintage auto? He'd seen enough on the job to know not to be surprised. Yet now he was. He sighed as he put his coffee in the cup holder, hit the siren, and eased out onto the road behind the Caddy.

 _At least the guy pulled over right away_ , thought Tork as he watched the car move to the shoulder of the road. As he got out of his cruiser, he saw movement in the front seat of the Caddy. By instinct, he tapped the gun holstered on his belt to make sure it was there. Reassured, he approached the driver's side of the car.

During his ten years with the Highway Patrol, Officer Tork had seen a lot of wild things. What he saw now topped everything else though. A man was driving the car, and a woman was sitting in his lap facing the driver. She alternated between kissing him and nibbling his ear.

"Sir, I need to see your license," Tork said in that crisp, confident manner that made most people respond at once.

Too bad for Tork today.

"Is something wrong, officer?" asked the woman sitting on the man's lap.

After the woman spoke, she went back to nibbling the man's ear.

"If you keep doing that to me, you're gonna drive me insane," said the man.

"I need to ask you both to get out of the car and to provide proof of insurance, title, and proper registration," Tork said.

"If we get out of the car first, we won't be able to get the papers you need out of the glove compartment."

No matter how many times he reminded himself, Tork always got that sequence wrong. Now this driver had pointed it out. Tork felt like a duffus.

"Get your papers then get out of the car. Now."

The woman pulled her head back and playfully slapped the man's chest.

"Paddy, what have you done to get this nice officer upset? Is there something wrong?"

"No, Teresa. Everything's good. Reeeeeeally good." The man glanced at Tork and winked.

Tork tapped his sidearm.

"Out of the car now," he said, his voice raised to the point where it began to crack. Again, he hated when his voice did that. It meant he'd lost control of the situation.

The woman bent over to look at Tork. Why did the name "Teresa" set off alarm bells in his mind? Glancing at her, it dawned on him. Realizing who she was flummoxed him.

"You're…you're…" he couldn't get the words out of his mouth. At last he completed a sentence. "You're her."

"Who her?" the man named Paddy asked, a self-satisfied grin on his face.

The man's smarting off irritated Tork, causing him to fumble his words some more.

"You're…you're…you're…the comet lady," he said.

"And this is Meteor Man, my boyfriend. I call him Paddy," Teresa said.

"I'm just a meteor? I resent that, Teresa. If anything, I'm a full-blown asteroid," said Paddy. He didn't seem too upset because he snatched a quick kiss from her.

"Anything you say, _Astro-boy_. Isn't he sweet officer?"

"Uh, yeah." Tork didn't know what to say now.

Teresa the hero comet lady got a serious look on her face, and Tork could tell she was reading his badge.

"Officer Tork, I know Paddy was driving all over the road when you stopped us. I'm responsible for the problem. What with being in space so long, having to blast that comet, and figuring a way to get back home after that, I missed this guy terribly. We've been making up for lost time. Tell me this officer. What if I make Paddy promise to leave the driving to me?" She motioned for Paddy to move out from under her and over to the passenger seat. "Don't you think if I could fly the SD-1 to Volker 516, I could drive my boyfriend's car back home?"

Tork observed that Teresa now sat alone in the driver's seat, both hands on the wheel and both feet on the pedals. She flashed him a smile brimming with hope.

"Ma'am, I'll just let you and your boyfriend off with a warning. But please be careful. And please control yourselves until you get home."

"We will, Officer. I promise," said Teresa as she glanced over at Paddy. "We'll manage somehow, but it's really hard."

Paddy piped up, the grin back on his face.

"Speaking of being really…"

The comet lady blushed then slapped his arm.

"Hush, Paddy."

"Yes, mistr…I mean Teresa."

"You two get going and get a room," said Tork. Then he relaxed as he remembered Teresa's last name. "And thank you, Major Lisbon, for saving all of us from the comet."

Tork began to walk back to his cruiser, and then a thought hit him: _I met a big celebrity, and I didn't get her autograph. No one back at headquarters will believe me._ He turned back to see the Caddy driving off.

 _Boink._

All of a sudden, Tork felt something in his pocket. Reaching in it, he pulled out a small envelope. Inside was a note. Where did it come from? He couldn't remember, but he read the note:

" _Officer Rick Tork,_

 _Thank you for keeping our roads safe. We're so glad we met got to meet you!_

 _\- your friends Teresa "the Comet Lady" Lisbon and Paddy "the Astro-Boy" Jane"_

Where did that come from? Tork was confused, but then a lot of things confused him. He did have the note tough. The guys at work might believe him now. _If they believed it really was Major Lisbon and her boyfriend who wrote the note,_ he thought. Would they? _No_ , he thought, and his heart sank.

 _Boink._

Something else rattled in the envelope. Reaching in, Tork pulled out a photo. He gasped. In it, Tork was standing with Major Lisbon and Paddy at the side of the road next to his cruiser.

 _When did we all take that picture?_ he wondered. Looking up, he saw Major Lisbon sticking her head out of the driver's side window waving goodbye and Paddy sticking his head out of the passenger window doing the same.

Totally bewildered, Tork raised his hand and gave a weak wave back to them. Major Lisbon eased the Caddy onto the pavement and drove - in a straight line and within the speed limit - down the road and over a hill. After a moment of shifting his gaze between the note and the photo, Tork decided it was best he didn't think too much about how he got them. He shook his head.

"At least people will believe me now," Tork said to himself.

* * *

All the way home, Teresa kept stealing glances at Patrick while she drove along. The looks he returned left no doubt in her mind about what he was thinking - and what they'd be doing once they got back. He reached over and began to caress the side of her face. While stopped at a traffic light, she grabbed his hand and kissed his palm, letting her lips brush across his skin. The shudder in his body that her action produced only inflamed her desire more.

Once home, Patrick got out, ran around to the driver's side of the Caddy, and opened her door. Both of them giggling, he chased her up the steps of the house. As Teresa fumbled with the keys, he stood behind her, and she felt his hot breath down her collar as he planted kisses on the back of her neck. After a few more moments of wrestling with her house key, Patrick stilled her efforts when his warm hands closed around hers.

 _Boink._

The door opened without the key, and they clamored inside. After slamming shut the door, Teresa leaned with her back against it as she wet her lips. Her heart raced in silent anticipation. She watched Patrick as he stood before her, a hunger in his eyes. Then pressing his whole body against hers, he brought their lips together with a primal urgency. Hands roamed while their voices moaned.

 _Boink._

Patrick's clothes began to fall off him. At the same time, Teresa felt hers loosen as well. Not content with the pace of his disrobing magic, she clutched his shirt and yanked it off. While she did that, he lifted her unbuttoned blouse off her shoulders and flung onto the back of a chair. Wild with desire, he lifted her in his arms and began to carry her up the stairs.

 _Chirp._

While faint, the sound of Teresa's cell phone registered in her fogged mind. Looking in Patrick's eyes, she saw his displeasure. The heat between them began to dissipate at once.

 _Chirp._

It was as if the cell phone called out in distress from wherever it was. Speaking of that, where was it? Patrick reversed course, carried her back down the stairs, and returned her feet to the floor in the gentle manner of the besotted lover he had become overnight.

 _Chirp. Chirp._

Casting her gaze around the room, Teresa sought the phone in vain. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Patrick pick up her jeans and lift out the phone. He handed it to her as he moved around to look over her shoulder.

Two messages from Minelli awaited her. In a flash, she decided to open the newest message first. All she found were three letters that didn't even form a word: "SOZ." She glanced at Patrick and saw the puzzlement in his own eyes.

"What does 'SOZ' mean?" she asked.

Patrick scratched his head for a moment, then his mouth formed a circle as he nodded.

"Minelli didn't mean 'SOZ' - he meant 'SOS'," he said.

"What?" she asked.

 _Boink._

Patrick held aloft a book worn at the edges with the title _Morse Code Language_.

"I read about it. Morse Code is an old method of text communication. People used the letters 'SOS' as a distress signal. If your boss used it, he must be in trouble. What's in the other message from him?"

Teresa opened the older message and noted that Minelli had sent her two pictures as well. With Patrick looking on, she read the message: _"SD-1 spacecraft on Crimson Flame rocket. Ready 2 launch. Something bad going on."_

Teresa opened the first picture. In it, she saw a man unhitching a fuel line from the Crimson Flame rocket. Atop the rocket sat the SD-1 spacecraft. Looking at the man in the picture closer, she recognized him.

"The man in this photo is Gale Bertram, the launch manager. He's in charge of setting up the rockets and spacecraft when they go on a mission," she said.

Glancing at Patrick, she saw his brow furrow.

"I recognize him. He was hanging around the neighborhood for a while. One day he came by the house and asked who I was. He said he was trying to organize a weekly poker game and was I interested."

"Did you accept?" she asked.

"No. I didn't think he really lived around here. J.J. LaRouche didn't know him either. Besides, a poker game would have taken away time I could spend with you."

Teresa flashed him a quick smile, then she opened the second photo. In that photo, the Director of the GSA was walking toward the camera pointing, a scowl on his face. It was clear that the Director had seen Minelli making the picture and was advancing toward him.

"Oh, no," she said. "It looks like Minelli and Abbott's snooping got found out. That's the Director of the GSA, Thomas McAl…"

Looking up at Patrick, she stopped mid-sentence. His face turned ashen as his whole body shook. After a moment of wide-eyed gaping at the photo, he spoke.

"That's Red John."

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Carson Chamberlain, Ashley Gorley, and Wade Kirby wrote "All Over the Road," and Easton Corbin recorded the song for his album of the same name. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic"

Up next: "Everybody Wants To Rule the World"


	12. Everybody Wants to Rule the World

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 12: Everybody Wants To Rule the World**

* * *

"Red John?" Teresa Lisbon asked. "Thomas McAllister, the GSA Director, is Red John?"

She saw Patrick Jane nod with vigor.

"I'd recognize him anywhere."

Teresa pulled her clothes back on as Patrick did the same.

"I've got to go to the GSA. He's got Minelli and Abbott," she said.

"I'm going with you."

Teresa shook her head as she opened her gun safe and retrieved her pistol.

"No. You stay here."

Patrick grabbed her arm and spun her around to face him.

"You need me." He pointed at the pistol. "That won't make a difference."

"This isn't your fight, Patrick."

"It isn't? That man killed my wife and daughter."

"You don't…"

"Maybe all of this is fate, Teresa," he said. "Maybe you and I were meant to meet on the beach. Maybe that's why you found me, so I could go up against Red John. You, him, and me. Maybe all of us fit together at this time in this place. Consider that."

Patrick's words made her stop and think. Could this be just coincidence, or was it more? She hesitated before she spoke.

"But…"

He wouldn't let her talk.

"Whatever Red John is doing, it can't be good. And it's obvious he wanted you out of the way for some reason. That's why he banished you."

"It's gonna be dangerous," she said.

"All the more reason for me going with you. You need me, Teresa. You need your genie. Besides, I don't want anything to happen to you. I've lost too much already."

She sighed and motioned for him to follow her.

* * *

Without a launch scheduled anytime soon, the GSA facility turned into a ghost town at night.

"ID, please," said a sentry in a bored monotone.

After flashing her badge to the man, he waved them on through.

"Are you gonna call security to help?" asked Patrick.

Instead of a direct answer, Teresa answered with a question.

"Who can I trust? If Bertram is working for Red John, who else is? 'Kindly-but-gruff old' Thomas McAllister has run the GSA for years, and he's hired everyone including security."

When they got to the launch building, Teresa slammed on her car brakes in surprise. The knot of fear in her stomach grew as she beheld the scene before her. Unbidden, her hands gripped the steering wheel like a vise.

"What is it?" asked Patrick.

She pointed at the top and sides of the building.

"The roof is open and the side walls are starting to retract, just like when we've got a launch."

Wisps of steam billowed out of the building as the walls moved at a snail's pace into their below-ground storage.

"Do you think Red John is planning to…"

Teresa cut off Patrick's question.

"What you're seeing is the sequence of steps prior to a launch. We've got to get inside to see what's going on."

Parking her car in the shadows, Teresa and Patrick sprinted across the moonlit pavement to the launch building. Hearing two voices inside, they lowered their profiles as they slipped through an open door. Climbing a catwalk, they crawled across it to the middle of the building. Teresa had to stifle a gasp at what she saw below.

Gale Bertram, the launch manager, busied himself at a control panel behind a concrete safety wall next to the Crimson Flame rocket. On top of the rocket sat the SD-1 spacecraft, its running lights lit.

"Everything checks out, Director. We should be ready to blast-off in twenty minutes," said Bertram as he called out.

Patrick tapped her arm and pointed underneath the rocket. Tied down and gagged, Virgil Minelli and Dennis Abbott sat in chairs. As Bertram busied himself, the two men twisted and turned trying to free themselves. No matter what they did though, they couldn't undo the cords.

A voice cut through the air from behind the rocket.

"Good. Have you transferred the launch controls to the SD-1?"

GSA Director Thomas McAllister stepped into view. Teresa saw Jane's whole body tense at the sight of the man. She reached over and patted his arm to comfort him.

"Yes, sir, I have," said Bertram as McAllister walked up to him. "I've got everything ready for us."

The two men busied themselves around the rocket. After a few moments, McAllister pointed over to Abbott and Minelli.

"Looks like our two guests have loosened their ropes, Bertram. You'd better go over and check them."

Betram looked up from the control panel.

"On it, Director." He walked over and checked the ropes. Scrunching his face, Bertram turned back to face McAllister. "They're both still secure."

"Huh," said McAllister. "Oh, there's been a slight change in plans, Bertram."

In a flash, McAllister drew a gun from his jacket pocket and fired a shot into Bertram's mid-section. For a moment, Bertram stood still as he gaped down at the blood gushing from his wound. Then he raised his eyes to gaze at McAllister again. "Why?" he asked. After another moment, his legs collapsed under him and he fell lifeless to the ground at the feet of Abbott and Minelli.

McAllister walked over to the two men, still bound to their chairs. He stood over them, shrugged his shoulders, and chuckled.

"You fellas have to understand something. Gale Bertram helped me out. Poor guy, he couldn't fathom that I'd never take him with me." McAllister took in a deep breath before he resumed talking. "Bertram may not have been too bright, but still he did help me. At the least I owed him a quick, unexpected death." He laughed. "You fellas on the other hand have been nothing but a pain in the ass to me, especially over the last few weeks. You deserve your fate, and I'll make sure that the rocket exhaust burns you down to a pile of ashes when I launch. I want you to think about that between now and when the rocket ignites."

"What are you doing, McAllister? Let us go," said Minelli.

McAllister threw his gun aside, crossed his arms, and blinked.

 _Boink._

Minelli raised in the air while still strapped in his chair, a yelp of pain escaping his lips.

"Whatever you're doing to Virgil, stop it this instant," said Abbott.

With Minelli still in the air, McAllister glared at Abbott.

"Do you want to find out what I'm doing to Minelli?" asked McAllister. "Perhaps if I do it to you too, you'll understand what's happening to your friend."

 _Boink._

Now Abbott rose up in the air as well.

"Ahhhhhhhh," Abbott's cry of pain gurgled out of his mouth.

"What I'm doing is strangling you both without even touching you. Does that seem odd?" McAllister sneered at them as they both thrashed in the air. "Don't worry. I've been killing people like this for centuries." He tipped his head at an angle, an inquisitive look on his face. "I'd said that I'd leave you to burn under the rocket when I launch, but I'm having too much fun now to stop. Plus, your agony soothes my anger at the trouble you two have caused me."

"What…do…you…mean…trouble? What…have…we…done…to…you?" Minelli spoke his words in a halting rasp as he fought to inhale a breath.

"Virgil. Poor, sad Virgil. Without knowing it, you ruined my plans, but only for a brief time."

"What?" asked Abbott as he thrashed about in his chair.

"No one in the world knew how the comet changed its course to head for earth. Except me. I changed it."

From her and Patrick's hidden vantage point, Teresa gaped at what she heard McAllister say.

"How…could…you…have…changed…the…comet's…course?" asked Minelli.

McAllister raised both hands above his head and waved them around. When he did that, Minelli and Abbott's chairs spun head-over-heels. After three spins, McAllister stilled their motion.

"Because I'm a sorcerer. Someone whose power dwarfs yours and any other human's," McAllister said, placing his hands on his hips. "Of course, that's not hard."

"That…makes…no…sense…McAllister," said Abbott.

"What makes no sense is that Virgil Minelli and his minion Teresa Lisbon thwarted my plans. I had used most of my strength to reach out across the void to change the course of the comet." McAllister stopped a moment and panted as if he were out of breath. Then he glared at Minelli. "I was exhausted from the effort. And then Minelli launches Lisbon into space. I took what power I had left to tamper with Lisbon's flight. It almost worked. Almost."

"I'm glad I messed up your plans, you son of a bitch," said Minelli in a clear voice. Despite the pressure on his throat, Teresa could tell he resisted the strangle hold on him. "Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh."

 _Boink._

"Just for that, I tightened the grip." McAllister laughed as he crossed his arms again and furrowed his brow. "How does it feel now?"

"Ahhhh. Ahhhh. Ahhhh," Minelli continued to resist but he could no longer form words.

McAllister sighed as if he were an actor on the stage.

"I have one weakness." He spoke in a high-pitched syrupy voice. "I let my temper get the best of me. Even though I was weakened and shut myself off at home, I still wanted to get even with Lisbon. When she got back in earth orbit, I mustered up enough magic to wreak havoc with her flight once more. And again she thwarted me. Even if I don't have the pleasure of killing her face-to-face, squeezing the life out of you fellas provides some solace."

"You…won't…get…away…with…it," Abbott spit out his words.

McAllister sneered.

"'You won't get away with it.' Ha! I should kill you quicker just for using a cliche like that, Abbott."

 _Boink._

"Ahhhhhhh." Abbott moaned as his head slumped forward.

McAllister paced back-and-forth as he watched the two men kick their legs in mid-air.

"I _will_ get away with it this time. Over the last year, I've sent supplies to the space station including a laser cannon powerful enough to hit the side of the comet and change its course _back_ towards earth. I'll be up there watching the world below me burn."

McAllister's cold-blooded murder of Bertram, his assault on Minelli and Abbott, and his taunts shocked Teresa into a stupor. Despite that her crisis training kicked in, and she began to assess the situation. Crouching low with Patrick on the catwalk to stay out of view, Teresa looked around her, and that prompted Patrick to do the same.

"We've got to do something, Patrick," she said.

"What is that?" asked Patrick in a whisper as he pointed to a lever with a big "Danger" sign fastened under it.

"That's the lever the ground crew pulls when they want to test-fire a rocket instead of launch it," she said. "If we only had a distraction that took McAllister away for a few moments, we could go free Minelli and Abbott."

Patrick smiled.

"One distraction coming up, ma'am," he said.

 _Boink._

Whap. Whap. Whap. The door at the far end of the building swung back-and-forth on its big hinges as it slammed again and again into the door frame. McAllister looked over in that direction and then lowered Abbott and Minelli to the floor. Both men gasped for air as they slumped in their chairs.

McAllister shook his finger at the two men.

"Now don't you fellas going running off while I check on that noise," he said. "I'll be back in a minute and finish you off. Think about the pain you've just been through and multiply it by ten."

McAllister walked to the far end of the building.

"Let's go," said Teresa in a whisper as she and Patrick scurried down the catwalk and across the floor to Minelli and Abbott.

She started to untie Abbott's ropes, but Patrick's hand stilled hers.

"Let me, Teresa," he said as he blinked.

 _Boink._

The cords fell away from both Abbott and Minelli. Both of the men looked up in wonder at Patrick.

"What in hell is going on here, Teresa? And who is this man?" asked Minelli.

"No time to talk, Virgil. I've got to get you guys to safety," she said. Then she turned her attention to Patrick. "I'll move them out of the way. When we're clear, you pull the test-fire lever. Then McAllister can't launch."

Patrick nodded then blinked.

 _Boink._

Looking over to the catwalk where they had been moments before, she now saw Patrick beside the lever. With an urgent wave, he motioned for them to move out from under the rocket.

"How did he do that?" Abbott asked as he gaped at Patrick.

"No time to talk now, sir. We've gotta move," said Teresa.

"Going somewhere, folks?"

 _Boink._

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Roland Orzabal, Ian Stanley, and Chris Hughes wrote "Everybody Wants To Rule the World," and Tears For Fears recorded the song for their album _Songs from the Big Chair_. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic" I have also started a Tumblr account with the username "cumberland-river-relic"

Up next: "Great Balls of Fire"


	13. Great Balls of Fire

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 13: Great Balls of Fire**

* * *

"Going somewhere, folks?"

 _Boink._

In an instant, Teresa felt herself bound in ropes. She strained to free herself but to no avail. When she glanced at Minelli and Abbott, she saw them bound again as well.

McAllister walked in front of the three of them, his hands on his hips.

"A valiant attempt to help your friends, Major Lisbon. Too bad it's for naught. Don't worry though. You and everyone else on this planet would be gone in a matter of days." He stroked his chin. "At least you won't have to see billions of people suffer."

"Let us go," said Teresa as she continued to tug against the ropes.

McAllister shook his head.

"I'm having too much fun now. Killing the three of you will be an appetizer, something to tide me over until the main event. Like with poor Bertram over there." He nodded to the man's body under the rocket. "I'm so happy you came to join Minelli and Abbott."

"You won't get away with it," she said.

McAllister scrunched up his nose.

"Cliche after cliche. Can't any of you come up with something better? All of you sound like do-gooders from a half-hearted fable."

"You can't launch without help," she said.

"Oh, I can, Major Lisbon. Bertram set it all up for me. After killing you, I'll blast off. Once I'm at the space station and redirect the comet with the laser cannon, I'll sit back and watch the world burn."

"Why?" she asked.

 _Boink._

Teresa's began to rise off the floor. Looking around, she saw Minelli and Abbott rise as well. McAllister stood in front of the three pairs of legs dangling in the air.

"Why you ask? Because it's how I get my jollies. I started out small, killing a single person on a lonely backroad. That was good enough for several centuries, but one day I woke up craving more."

"More?" asked Minelli.

 _Boink._

Teresa felt pressure tighten around her neck, and she saw similar distress on Minelli and Abbott's faces.

"Random killing failed to sate my blood lust as I got older. I graduated to serial killing. But even that bored me after a time."

"You're a sick man, McAllister," said Abbott.

 _Boink._

He applied more pressure to Teresa and the others.

"I told you before. I am _not_ a man. I am a sorcerer. Show me proper respect," said McAllister, his voice raised in anger. "Anyway, I moved on to full-blown war. Oh, how I love the mass slaughter. Leading troops into hopeless battle where men kill each other for no reason other than my pleasure."

"That gives you pleasure?" asked Minelli.

"Indeed it did," said McAllister. "But even war gets old after a few centuries. I needed more. Then I found a new hobby - genocide. To erase whole groups of people took me to a still greater high."

"Why haven't I ever heard about you before?" asked Teresa between gasps for air.

McAllister smiled.

"Oh, rest assured, you have. 'Thomas McAllister' is only my latest guise. If you thumb through any history book, a good number of the murderers, serial killers, and despots down through the ages were really me. Those that weren't were just posers, pale imitations of a true artist like myself."

"You won't succeed now," she said as she mustered enough air to speak.

McAllister pretended to cover his ears.

"More cliches. What is wrong with you people? Doesn't even one of you offer some creativity?"

"Why? You're hardly creative. All you know how to do is kill people," she said.

McAllister shook his finger at Teresa.

"Take that back. I'm a true artist. In fact, this will be my greatest work of art - destroying the whole human civilization."

"You're wrong, _Red John_ ," she said.

McAllister raised an eye brow.

"So you know my real name." A sneer soon replaced the surprise on his face. "Patrick Jane must have told you about me."

"How did…" Teresa couldn't finish her question because McAllister waved her into silence.

"You've been such a thorn in my side, I sent Bertram to spy on you at home. He photographed a man living with you and brought it to me. Imagine my shock when I saw my old friend Patrick Jane."

"You're no friend of his, Red John," said Teresa as she noticed movement out of the corner of her eye.

"The last time I saw Patrick Jane I stuffed him in a bottle and flung it into the ocean. Too bad he didn't come with you tonight. I'd have enjoyed killing him too." McAllister's eyes grew large as if something dawned on him. "He's standing right behind me, isn't he?"

 _Boink._

Crash.

Splat.

A forklift slammed on top of McAllister.

"Standing right behind you, Red John? Meh. That _would be_ a cliche. On the other hand, hovering above you ready to drop a forklift on your head _is_ something different," said Patrick.

Patrick landed on the ground and hurried over to Teresa, Minelli, and Abbott.

 _Boink._

The three lowered gently down to the floor.

 _Boink._

The ropes that bound them fell away.

"Get yourself and the others to safety, Teresa. Red John won't be down for long," said Patrick.

"But what about you?" she asked as her hands clutched the fabric of his shirt to tug him along with her.

"Everything that Red John has done has weakened him."

"But…"

The forklift began to move and a groan that turned into a growl cut through the night air.

"No buts. Go." Patrick pushed away first Teresa then Minelli and Abbott. "Run."

Teresa hesitated but two pair of hands grabbed her arms and dragged her back to the safety of the catwalk. Once behind the railing, she, Minelli, and Abbott peered out to the scene beside the rocket.

"I'm baaaaaack," shouted McAllister as he threw the forklift off his body.

 _Boink._

Teresa saw Patrick turn to Red John just as the forklift slammed into his own body.

"Ahhhhhh," Patrick screamed as the machine bowled him over and McAllister laughed as he rose to his feet.

"I should have killed you when I did your wife and daughter. Ah, the memories," said McAllister. "I was young and impulsive back then. Now I'm old and scheming. But I still love the thrill of the kill."

A voice called out.

"You son-of-a-bitch, I'll kill you." Patrick's body from the shoulders up lay exposed from under the forklift.

"Words, Patrick, words. Watch your mouth. Profanity is so beneath you," said McAllister as he slammed his boot on the genie's neck. "Besides, it doesn't matter what you say. Remember, I'm the one who does the killing. You're the one who does the suffering."

"Ahhhh." Patrick screamed as McAllister slammed his boot down again and again on his neck.

Teresa turned to Abbott and Minelli.

"We've got to help him," she said.

She noticed that all three of them reached for their pockets at the same time. _We think alike_ , she thought. All three pulled out their sidearms.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three shots rang out. McAllister staggered and took two steps backward. After a moment, he raised himself up to full height again and turned toward Teresa, Minelli, and Abbott.

 _Boink._

Teresa's gun began to twist in her hand, the barrel inching around to point at her head. Seeing what was happening, Minelli and Abbott grasped at the gun to stop its movement. Despite all their effort, the gun kept turning toward Teresa.

 _Boink._

Now Teresa felt a pair of unseen hands close around hers. Immediately she knew they were Patrick's. With his strength added to hers and the two men's, the gun turned away from her, shook loose, and clattered to the floor.

"I'm tired of you, Red John," said Patrick as he pushed off the forklift and kicked McAllister in the groin.

"Ahhhhhhhh." McAllister yelped in pain as he doubled over.

Patrick sprang to his feet, but McAllister raised up and flung his hands out in his direction.

 _Boink._

Patrick catapulted through the air. When he smashed against a concrete wall at the far end of the building, it crumbled into dust. Teresa saw him try to rise, but he staggered and fell to his knees.

McAllister grabbed a blow torch from a work bench. Lighting it, he strode toward Patrick with a swagger. As he closed on the genie, he turned up the flame so it arced above him.

"Someone's gonna get burned, Paddy. Like I said, I should have killed you along with your family. But you can't go back. At least I get the pleasure of seeing you go up in smoke now."

Teresa stood too far away to come to Patrick's aid. She watched in horror as McAllister stood over her genie and turned the blow torch down on him. Then as the flame licked at his shirt, Patrick blinked.

 _Boink._

"What's that above you, Red John?" he asked.

McAllister looked up at a flock of pigeons that appeared out of thin air.

"Get them away from me." Fear covered the man's face. A moment later, something else covered his face - a pasting of a thick, white substance. "Ahhhhhh. These birds are shitting all over me." In a frenzy, McAllister tried to wipe the droppings off his face but the birds deposited more and more.

"Words, Red John, words. Watch your mouth. Profanity is so beneath you," said Patrick as sarcasm dripped from his voice.

Teresa watched as Patrick picked up a steel chair and bashed it time and time again against McAllister. The sorcerer tried to raise his hands to cast a spell, but the speed of Patrick's blows prevented him. Like one fighter boxing another into a corner, Patrick forced McAllister to back up further and further until he was underneath the rocket. In a flash, Patrick flung aside the chair and tackled McAllister.

 _Boink._

In the same instant, an ear piece appeared in Teresa's ear and she heard Patrick speak to her in an urgent voice.

"I've got Red John pinned down. He's hurt but he'll recover soon. Throw the test-fire switch while I've got him restrained," said Patrick.

Teresa yelled back to him.

"No. Not as long as you're under there with him."

"There's no other way, Teresa. If he gets away, he'll kill everyone. Do it."

Tears fell from her eyes as she shook her head.

"I can't."

"If you can't…" Patrick said as he fought McAllister, "…then I will."

 _Boink._

"No." Teresa screamed as loud as she could when she saw the lever that controlled the test-firing of the rocket move downward. "Patrick, I command you to cease at once. Do not throw the switch for the test-fire while you're under the rocket."

His voice, wavering as he put all his energy into holding Red John down, came through the ear piece.

"I...can't...let...him...escape."

She heard him grunt as he pressed down on Red John.

"I forbid you. Do you understand?" she said.

Teresa ran over to the lever and pushed against its downward motion with all her might. The lever stopped then slowly began to lift upward again.

"Stop it, Teresa. Don't make me go against you. You know it has to be this way," said Patrick.

She shook her head.

"I won't let you sacrifice yourself," she said as she pushed harder to move the lever back to its normal position.

"I'm sorry I have to disobey you, Teresa. I'm an imperfect genie."

 _Boink._

In an instant, Teresa felt an invisible force enclose around her hands. Despite all her efforts to hold the lever up, the force prized her fingers loose from it.

"Goodbye, Teresa."

"No, Patrick, no."

Teresa stared across the open space between the catwalk and the rocket. Patrick still hunched over Red John, his body blocking the man from rising. Looking up at her, Patrick raised one hand to wave goodbye.

At that instant, the lever clicked into the down position. A gusher of flame blew out from the rocket's exhaust. Smoke engulfed the rocket and the entire area around it. A moment later, a wall of heat reached Teresa's vantage point and forced her to take cover.

As her body sagged down behind a partition, she wept.

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Otis Blackwell and Jack Hammer wrote "Great Balls of Fire," and Dolly Parton recorded my favorite version of it. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic" I have also started a Tumblr account with the username "cumberland-river-relic"

Up next: "Something To Live For"


	14. Something to Live For

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 14: Something To Live For**

* * *

The sounds of shoes scuffling along the catwalk registered somewhere in Teresa Lisbon's mind as the tears cascaded from her eyes. When a warm hand patted her shoulder, she didn't flinch. She did nothing except continue to wail.

"Major Lisbon. Are you alright," asked a stern voice in front of her.

"Teresa. Are you alright?" asked a familiar voice beside her.

At last looking up, she saw the two men. In front stood General Abbott. Hunched over beside her stood Virgil. She sniffled as she tried to get herself under control.

"No, I'm not. My friend Patrick Jane. He died." Teresa glanced back-and-forth between the men. "He died to save us. All of us."

"We know. We saw everything," said Virgil.

The two men nodded, and she took a moment to wipe her eyes. When she looked at Virgil again, she found him gazing beyond the catwalk towards the rocket. Cupping his hand over his eyes, he continued to stare as he poked Abbott on the shoulder. Abbott in turn leaned over the railing himself to get a better look. In a moment, Virgil glanced at her and spoke.

"Teresa, I see someone on the other side of the barrier wall beside the rocket."

"I see someone too. Whoever it is is slumped against it," said Abbott.

Teresa started to raise herself up by grasping at the railing. In response, the two men each grabbed an arm to hoist her to her feet. After she steadied herself, Virgil pointed and spoke.

"Look there. Can you see?"

At first afraid to look, Teresa forced herself to focus on the rocket. Two clumps of dust lay beneath the rocket engines. On the other side of a partition, a still figure lay slumped over against the concrete wall. Looking closer, she tell it wasn't the thicker, older frame of either McAllister or Bertram. It was Patrick.

 _At least his body wasn't incinerated in the rocket burn_ , she thought.

"I want to go down there," she said.

"It's still too hot, Teresa," said Virgil.

She snapped her head around to glare at her boss.

"I don't care." She started to walk down the catwalk, but Abbott restrained her.

"Virgil's right. It's over 600 degrees down there. We've got to let it cool down a few minutes. It would kill us."

"Don't you understand? I want to see my Patrick," she said, fighting a losing battle to wipe the tears out of her eyes.

Abbott glanced around them and pointed.

"There's the controls for the cooling system. Let me turn it on full strength." He spied another set of controls and waved at them. "There's the controls for the outer doors. Virgil, you open them while I get some cold air pumping out."

"Good idea," replied Virgil, already in motion toward the bank of levers and buttons.

Teresa stood by herself, tapping the steel railing in front of her with her knuckle in a spasm of nervous energy, as the men went about their tasks. When Virgil opened the massive door at the side of the launch building, a cool night breeze rushed in. As soon as Abbott started the cooling system, a blast of cold air cascaded out from ceiling vents.

Virgil returned to Teresa's side and looked at a set of gages in front of them.

"The temperature on the floor is dropping now. 400 degrees, 300,…,200, 190, 180…" said Virgil.

"I want to see Patrick's body," said Teresa. Abbott put his hand on her shoulder, as much to restrain her as to provide comfort.

"…140, 130, 120, 110…" Virgil called out the temperature readings in a monotone cadence.

"That's good enough. I'm going down there."

Teresa slipped her shoulder down to escape from Abbott's grasp and scurried down the steps. Despite wearing shoes, heat seeped upward to her feet, making her feel like they were roasting with each step. The thickness of the hot air near the rocket stifled her breaths. Yet not even that would deter her. At last she made her way over to Patrick's body and knelt.

"Oh, Patrick." She put her hand under his chin and stroked his face. "Why? Why did it have to come to this?"

She lifted his face to kiss him. His limp body began to list over to the floor but she grabbed his shoulder to hold him upright as she bussed his lifeless lips.

Then his lips twitched.

Shock made Teresa pull back. Patrick's eyes blinked once, twice, three times. Now he lifted a hand to rub his lips. In another moment, he spied Teresa. He managed the weakest of smiles for her.

"Hi," he said.

Her shock turned to joy, Teresa answered with a smile of her own.

"Hey, you."

"Red John?" he asked.

"Incinerated," she replied.

Patrick nodded.

"We were both directly under the rocket. Red John lay on the ground begging for mercy. I was going to stay there when it fired. My vengeance was fulfilled."

"Oh, Patrick, don't say that…"

"But I couldn't stay there." He shook his head in a weak motion. "I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing you again. So as the flames burst out, I blinked behind this wall - it's only as far as my strength could let me. I still felt boiled alive."

Their conversation seemed to drain what energy he had from his body. Patrick slumped forward but Teresa's arms kept him from keeling over. She rose to her feet. Lifting him up, she slung his arm over her shoulder. Again her emotions overcame her.

"Don't you ever do that to me again. Ever," she said.

While the two of them made their way to the door, Abbott and Virgil climbed down from the catwalk. When they came along beside the two men, Teresa halted, Jane's arm still slung over her shoulder. Before speaking, Abbott glanced at Virgil. The two men nodded. Then Abbott turned back to Patrick and Teresa to address them.

"Virgil and I don't have a clue about what all of this was about, other than McAllister wanting to destroy the whole world." Abbott waved his hand in the air to accent his words. "It's probably best if we _don't_ know what we saw. Don't worry though. Go take care of your friend. Virgil and I will come up with some explanation about McAllister and Bertram." He took a deep breath. "None of us ever needs to mention this again."

Teresa bid farewell to the men and took Patrick to her car.

* * *

"Let's go to the hospital and get someone to look at you," said Teresa once they drove off from the base.

Patrick, who had drifted in-and-out of consciousness as soon as Teresa had deposited him in the passenger seat of the car, roused himself enough to respond.

"No. Take me home."

Stopped at a traffic light, Teresa turned to look at Patrick but found he matched her glare for glare. She opened her mouth to say something, but he summoned enough strength to shake his head "no." With a sigh, she changed her route and drove home.

Once they got inside her house, Patrick motioned toward the couch in the living room. Teresa stilled his movement by grabbing his arm. It was her turn to make a demand.

"In bed. Now."

So weak he bobbled in her grasp, Patrick moaned as he let her lead him to the bedroom. When he got to the edge of the bed, he tottered for a moment before he collapsed in the middle of it. Despite her best effort, Teresa couldn't move him into the correct position. Giving up, she retrieved a blanket to drape over him. That done, she reached out to pat his shoulder before she left the room.

Patrick stayed like that for three straight days.

* * *

With each day, Teresa's worry grew. Patrick hardly moved other than a twitch of his hand or his nose, and she feared he would stop breathing any minute. Most of the times that she spoke to him, Patrick failed to respond at all. When he did offer the occasional grunt, it sounded like music to her ears - he at least acknowledged her.

Finally on the third morning, a strange noise woke Teresa from her nap on the couch. Someone was sneezing in a violent fit. As soon as her mind cleared, she realized the sound came from the bedroom. Rushing in, she found Patrick sitting up at last. She would have felt relief except for an expression of sheer terror on his face.

Patrick was sneezing faster than the firing of a machine gun. She would have laughed except for the fright that clouded his eyes. With each sneeze, he lost more control of himself. As he continued to sneeze, he waved his hands in the air like a defective windmill.

Teresa ran over to the bedside table, picked up the box of tissue paper, and held it in front of him.

"What's that for?" asked Patrick.

"Wipe you nose with these," she said as she pulled out a single tissue to hand to him.

Like a scared animal, he took it. Like a child learning a new skill, Patrick rubbed the tissue under his nose. As soon as he finished, a new torrent of sneezes erupted.

"It's started again." He reached out, grabbed the box of tissues from her, and rubbed it across his face.

Teresa seized his hands.

"No, take the tissues out of the box before you wipe your nose."

"Oh. Okay," he replied in between sneezes.

"You act like you've never sneezed before," she said.

"I haven't."

"Never?"

"We Janes never get sick."

"Well, you could have fooled me," she said with a little laugh.

Patrick glanced at her.

"This isn't funny, Teresa."

She reached out to grasp his hands.

"I'm just thankful you're still alive."

"And I'm thankful for you, Teresa."

Patrick enveloped her in his arms. Caught up in the moment, a few seconds passed before Teresa realized that something was different about Patrick. He felt hot to the touch. Pushing him out of their embrace, she reached up to hold her hand over his forehead.

"You're burning up."

"That can't be. We Janes never run a fever."

"You are now. Don't deny it."

Once more she pulled him close and rocked him in her arms. How long did they remain like that? Teresa lost track of time until Patrick began to shake. His whole body twitched in spasms. Even his attempt to talk betrayed his lack of control.

"I-I-I am f-f-f-free-z-z-z-zing."

Teresa pulled him tighter and wrapped a blanket around them until his body finally stilled. Brushing a sweaty lock of hair off his face, she smiled. He mustered a weak one in reply.

"You had a chill," she said.

"That's ridiculous. We Janes…"

Teresa cut him off.

"I know, I know. None of this ever happens to the Janes, but think about what you've been through."

"Something is terribly wrong, Teresa. I don't feel the same."

Teresa took his hands in hers.

"We'll get through this together." At that instant, Teresa was overcome herself. "A-chu." She grabbed a tissue of her own and dabbed under her nose. "Whatever you've got, I must have caught it. Now I'm sick too."

"Sorry," said Patrick.

They stayed like that - sick together in bed - for another day.

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Written by Billy Strayhorn, "(I've Got) Something To Live For" is most often associated with Duke Ellington. Ella Fitzgerald recorded my favorite versions of the song both in studio and in concert. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic" I have also started a Tumblr account with the username "cumberland-river-relic"

Up next: "98.6"


	15. Ninety-eight point six

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 15: 98.6**

* * *

After a day, Teresa Lisbon rallied enough that she could bustle around the house. Patrick Jane had improved as well, although she still saw the fright in his eyes that left him in a daze. Nothing seemed to shake the cloud of despair that hung over him.

On the fifth day after their confrontation with Red John, Teresa could tell that Patrick had recovered further. Yet he remained listless, sprawled out across the couch. Desperate to get help for her genie, she stood in front of him, hands on her hips.

"This can't go on. You need help."

"No one can help me."

"We don't know that. I'm going to get someone to look at you."

Fear filled Patrick's eyes.

"No. You can't do that."

In reply, Teresa placed her hand beneath his chin and drew her lips to his. When they finished their kiss, she pulled back to regard him.

"Yes, I can. You're my genie and I'm your mistress, aren't I?"

His shoulders drooped.

"Yes, mistress."

She gave him another quick buss.

"Good. Since I'm in charge, here's what we're going to do…"

* * *

That night, Teresa and Patrick sat in the guest chairs of Dr. Summer Edgecombe's examination room at the GSA clinic. Since the normal work day ended hours ago, no one else was around except for them and Summer. Teresa held Patrick's hand in a firm grip, as much to keep him from bolting away as to provide him reassurance. Leaning against the wall, digital pad in hand, Summer shifted her gaze back-and-forth between them.

"When you called me, Teresa, I was in the middle of giving Cho his nightly backrub."

Hearing that, Teresa smirked. Summer shot her an exasperated look before she waved her hand.

"Don't you say a thing. I really was giving Cho a backrub. Don't you remember when he hurt himself during that escape pod drill last month?" said Summer.

"I wouldn't ask you to do this if it wasn't important. And Patrick is the most important person in my life." Teresa put her hand around him and squeezed him.

"Teresa, you're my friend. I want to help. But ever since you got back from space, you've asked me to do one thing after another that violates the rules. First was the extra round of tests for you. Then that secret psych profile. Now you want me to do a full exam on your boyfriend? He's not even in the GSA," said Summer.

"Please, Summer. I wouldn't ask you if I didn't trust you."

Summer sighed.

"But…"

Before she could complete her thought, the office door swung open and General Dennis Abbott walked in.

"Dr. Edgecombe, I appreciate your coming into the clinic so late at night to examine Mr. Jane."

Her mouth agape, Summer looked from Abbott to Teresa to Patrick.

"What's going on here?" she asked.

Abbott took a deep breath before he replied to her.

"I never like to give an order to a civilian, especially one in the medical corps. But I am now. Dr. Edgecombe, on my orders you are to examine Mr. Jane and provide any medical treatment he needs. Further, you will keep no written records that the exam or treatment took place. Virgil Minelli and I take full responsibility for this action. Are we clear on that?"

"Yes, sir. Perfectly."

"Thank you in advance for your help." Abbott looked to Teresa. "Major Lisbon, let me know if there's anything else that you or Mr. Jane needs from me. I'll be in my office." With a wave, he exited.

Dumbfounded look on her face, Summer raised her hands in an air of defeat.

"Whatever Minelli and Abbott want, I do. What seems to be wrong with you, Mr. Jane?"

Until that point, Patrick had balled himself up in his chair, a blanket wrapped around his body.

"Everything."

Summer glanced at Teresa then back at Patrick.

"Can you narrow it down for me?"

"I've never felt like this before," said Patrick.

Summer sighed yet again.

"Okay, let's get started."

Five hours later, Patrick and Teresa sat holding hands in the examination room as they waited for Summer to return with test results. When Teresa glanced out the window, she saw the first pink colors of dawn stretch across the sky to the west. Summer had warned them that since she was processing all the tests instead of skilled technicians it would take longer. As Teresa squirmed in her plastic chair, she strained to hear any noise outside the room. Instead she heard nothing - no voices, no machines, no clatter of objects bumping into each other. The cold silence only amplified her fears.

Then something in the distance riveted her attention. Staccato steps echoed off the walls far down the hallway as Summer walked toward the examination room. As each footfall brought Summer closer, Teresa took in a deep breath, trying to control her frayed nerves. She both welcomed and feared Summer's return and the news she brought.

Yet again she thought about what must be going through Patrick's mind. Looking beside her, she saw in his eyes the same fear that had consumed her. Teresa patted his hand.

"No matter what happens from this point on, we have to promise each other that we'll always look on the bright side," she said.

Patrick squeezed her hand.

"I promise. For you, my dear Teresa, I promise."

The door swinging open refocused their attention. An armful of printouts under her arm, Summer strode into the room. She hopped up on the examination table in front of them, stared across at Teresa and Patrick, and waved the printouts in front of her.

"Mr. Jane. Uh, Patrick. I've gone over all of these tests. Three times. I've tried to find anything that's wrong with you other than that nasty bout of the flu that dragged you down," said Summer.

"It's awful." Patrick blurted out his words in between moans.

"But you even appear to be mostly over that. Everything checks out. Blood pressure, pulse, respiration, X-rays - all of them are normal. Even that fever you had has broken. Your temperature is 98.6. You're completely normal," said Summer. She looked at Teresa. "No offense to either of you, but getting the flu hardly constitutes a matter of global security."

"Thank you for doing all of this for us," said Teresa.

"The thing of it is, I haven't really done anything for either of you. Patrick Jane is in good health. I don't know what else to check," said Summer with a shrug of her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Teresa. I've run every test I can think of."

After Summer excused herself, Teresa turned to Patrick.

"That's good news, isn't it?" she asked.

"Something's still not right. I feel…different. Can we go home?" said Patrick as he pulled the blanket more tightly around him.

"Let's go," Teresa said.

Once they made their way into the kitchen back home, Patrick opened the refrigerator and surveyed each shelf, moving jars, bottles, and cartons around while he grunted.

"No eggs," he said in a mumble.

Hearing his interest in eating again heartened Teresa.

"Do you want me to go to the grocery to get some for you? Or do you feel well enough to blink some up?"

 _Boink._

On the table before them set a plate of hard-boiled eggs.

"Humph. I wanted scrambled. Let me try again."

 _Boink._

Now poached eggs filled the plate.

"Try again," said Teresa.

Patrick turned to fully face the plate of eggs and crossed his arms. He stared at it as if he wanted to focus all of his power on the plate. _That's exactly what he's doing_ , thought Teresa.

 _Boink._

The poached eggs transformed at last into a steaming plate of scrambled ones. Teresa clapped with joy as Patrick sat down to ladle some of the eggs into a bowl for himself. He motioned for her to join him at the table.

 _Boink._

A bowl appeared before Teresa, and she scooped some eggs into it for herself.

"It shouldn't have taken that much effort to conjure up the food," said Patrick as he continued to stare at the plate.

Teresa reached over to rub his arm.

"You've been sick. You're not functioning at full strength yet."

Patrick shook his head.

"Nothing is right. Janes never get sick…I lost my appetite…It took three tries for me to get my eggs the way I wanted them. None of this has ever happened before."

Teresa reached her arm around Patrick and drew him to her.

"I don't care. The most important thing is that you survived. You're here with me. Somehow, someway, we'll get through this and find out what's happened to you."

When they finished eating, Patrick busied himself on the computer while Teresa took a nap on the couch. When she roused herself mid-day, she found him still hunched over the computer screen. As he stared, his fingers thump-thump-thumped with irritation on the desk. When she walked over to him and looked over his shoulder, she saw a news article accompanied by the photo of a woman with a blank expression plastered across her face.

"Who's that?" she asked.

Patrick dropped his head in his hands before he answered.

"The only person who can tell me what's wrong with me."

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Yes, there is actually a song called "98.6," and it is perhaps the quintessential 1960s pop song. Written by George Fischoff and Tony Powers, the solo artist Keith recorded it. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic" I have also started a Tumblr account with the username "cumberland-river-relic"

Up next: "I'll Never Be the Same"


	16. I'll Never Be the Same

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 16: I'll Never Be The Same**

* * *

"Who is she?" asked Teresa Lisbon as she stared at the image on the screen. "She looks like she's catatonic."

Patrick Jane sighed.

"The name she goes by now is Kristina Frye."

"The name she goes by now? Is she…"

Patrick cut off Teresa before she could finish her sentence.

"She claimed she was a super-sorcerer back in the old days. The news article says she was found unconscious in an abandoned house near here two years ago. She's been institutionalized ever since." Patrick thumped the computer screen where it displayed a picture of the South River Psychiatric Hospital.

"What happened to her?" asked Teresa.

"According to the article, no one knows. I'm certain though that Red John had something to do with it." He shook his head. "She was naive where he was concerned."

"But if she's catatonic, how can you talk to her?"

"I'm willing to try to get through to her. Can we go see her?"

Teresa was already reaching for her car keys.

"Let's go."

* * *

Getting to the South River Psychiatric Hospital was one thing, but getting to see Kristina Frye would be the real challenge.

"We'd like to see Ms. Kristina Frye, please," said Teresa to the woman dressed in a security guard's uniform in the lobby.

Without looking up from her fashion magazine, the woman responded to Teresa.

"I'm sorry. Ms. Frye is in isolation. No visitors."

"But it's important we see her." As Teresa spoke she tugged on the sleeve of Patrick's shirt and gave him a smile of encouragement. "Who do we need to talk to…" Teresa eyed the name tag on the front of the guard's uniform. "…Lucy?"

Lucy the security guard took a deep breath as she slammed her magazine down on the desk.

"I already told you - no visitors. Ms. Frye is in isola…" Lucy looked up and froze in mid-sentence as she gaped at Teresa. Then she gasped. "You're…you're…you're…her." Lucy began to shake. "I am so freaked out to meet you. I've wanted to for so long. And now you're right in front of me." She sprang out of her chair, steepled the tips of her fingers together, and pointed her hands skyward like a rocket. "GSA!" Then she sprinted around the desk to embrace Teresa in a hug.

Teresa patted Lucy on the back until the woman released her. Her mouth ajar, Lucy pulled back to gape at her some more. Patrick, who had remained silent to this moment, entered the conversation.

"So, you recognize Major Lisbon?" he asked.

His voice shook Lucy out of her stupor.

"She's my hero. I've applied to the GSA myself. We're gonna be fellow astronauts!" Lucy began vibrating with nervous energy.

Teresa saw Patrick wink at her before he turned his attention back to the security guard.

"Well, Lucy, since you're going to be a fellow astronaut with Major Lisbon, I'll let you in on a secret. The job involves more than just flying through space and blasting comets."

"It does?" asked Lucy.

"Indeed it does. As part of her duties, Major Lisbon does community outreach. That's why we're here today."

Lucy's face clouded over.

"Who are you?"

After a moment's hesitation, Patrick replied.

"I'm, ahhh, Colonel Wilbur…Pike, GSA Community Relations Officer. We recently heard about poor Ms. Frye's condition, and Major Lisbon wants to pay her respects," said Patrick.

 _Boink._ He handed Lucy a business card.

"That's so kind of you, ma'am," said Lucy as she shifted her gaze back to Teresa.

Patrick patted Teresa on the back.

"That's our hero. She's a real Saint Teresa," said Patrick but then he lowered his voice to little more than a whisper. "Surely you understand that Major Lisbon wants to be discreet. She wants to focus on Ms. Frye, not attract the attention of a bunch of star-struck gawkers."

Lucy nodded.

"I understand totally. People can be so nutty sometimes."

"Indeed they can, Lucy. That's why Major Lisbon and I are doing this on a hush-hush basis. Can you help us?"

Lucy nodded.

"I'll call Stan, he's the nurse-in-charge on the third floor. He'll buzz you on through to Ms. Frye's room."

"Thank you," said Patrick as he shook her hand. "And we'll be seeing you around the astronaut training center soon."

Lucy began to vibrate again.

"Oh, I can't wait," said Lucy as she enveloped Teresa in a good-bye hug.

Once they reached the third floor, they met up with Stan the nurse. He motioned for them to follow him.

"It's nice of you to come to see Kristina Frye, Major Lisbon, but I don't see why. She gives no response at all. We gave up trying to communicate with her a year ago. Her doctor says she'll stay like this the rest of her life."

"Humph." Patrick's snort was loud enough that Teresa feared Stan would hear it. She poked him in the ribs to make him keep quiet.

When Stan led them to Room 303, he stopped and pointed. "Here's her room."

"Could we have a few moments of privacy with Ms. Frye?" asked Teresa.

Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

"That's against policy. The head doc here would spin like a friggin' crank shaft if she knew I let visitors in to see Ms. Frye without supervision." His eyes narrowed to slits as he looked at Teresa. "You know, you remind me of my sister."

Teresa smiled.

"Well, I'm glad I remind you of her if that lets us see your patient."

"Don't be glad. Reminding me of my sister actually makes me _not_ want to let you in. But seeing as how you're the world-famous astronaut, go ahead. Just don't take too long."

With a bob of his head, Stan excused himself to leave Patrick and Teresa alone with Ms. Frye.

What Teresa saw once they entered the room depressed her. Her face pale, Kristina Frye lay completely still in her bed except for the steady in-and-out of her breathing. The woman's face was just like in the photo in the news article - a blank without hint of emotion. Glancing at Patrick, she saw him stride over to Frye's bedside.

"Kristina Frye. That's a nice name you're using now. It sounds so different from what you used to call yourself back in the day. You had a pretty good scam going on when I knew you before," he said.

Frye lay still.

"That's supposed to ingratiate you to her?" asked Teresa.

"Kristina and I didn't necessarily see eye-to-eye on a lot of things," he said.

"Obviously," said Teresa.

Patrick turned his attention back to Ms. Frye.

"Look, Kristina, something's badly wrong with me, and…and…and I've come to ask you for help. Please." Patrick choked out his words.

Frye remained still.

"That sounds better, Patrick. At least you admitted you wanted her help," said Teresa. She glanced at the unchanged face of Kristina. "Look, you gave it a try. But it's obvious there's nothing you can do. This poor woman can't hear you."

That remark got a rise of defiance out of Patrick.

"Oh, she can hear everything we say. She just needs the right motivation to respond," he said.

"And you can provide it?" asked Teresa.

Patrick thought for a minute, smiled, and knelt beside Kristina.

"You can drop the gag. Red John is dead. We incinerated him with a rocket blast. The heat was enough it reduced him to a pile of ashes. But getting him under the rocket injured me somehow. That's why I sought you out."

Frye's eyes popped open and her head twisted around. Teresa jumped back in response but Patrick stayed beside the bed.

"You're not lying, are you?" Kristina asked.

"About what? Red John dying or me being injured?" asked Patrick.

Kristina waved her hand in the air.

"I could care less about you. Is Red John really, really, _really_ dead?"

"He is. And because I did that, the least you can do is help me."

Kristina let out a sigh.

"What do you need? Will this take long? I'm tired of putting on this show day-in and day-out. I want to get on with my life, starting with a decent meal."

Patrick crossed his arms.

"Like I said, something's wrong with me."

Kristina looked up and down at Patrick while she swung her legs around from the prone position.

"'Something's wrong with me'," said Kristina in a reedy-voiced imitation that sounded only a bit like Patrick. "You mean more wrong than normal?"

"I need help," said Patrick.

"Oh, you've needed help for a long time, buddy."

Teresa felt guilty for liking Frye better when she was catatonic.

"Ma'am, my genie needs help. On top of everything else, he's just gotten over a bout of the flu, something he's never had before. You of all people should be glad to help him out. You should be thankful for what Patrick did to remove Red John's threat over you."

Kristina shrugged in Teresa's direction while she addressed Patrick.

"So she's your new mistress?"

For a moment, Patrick dropped his dour facade and puffed out his chest.

"She is. She's my friend too."

"Good for you." Kristina looked at Teresa. "What do you have him do for you?"

Teresa knew her face must have burned five shades of crimson.

"None of your damn business, woman," she replied.

Kristina smirked at her before she turned her attention back to Patrick.

"So I see you're enjoying your new assignment."

Now it was Patrick's turn to blush. Soon enough he got a defiant posture though.

"Shut up. And if you don't help us, I'll throw you under a rocket engine too."

Kristina rolled her eyes.

"As if you could." She looked back at Teresa once more. "The boy's always been a scamp. Have you ever noticed that?"

Despite the situation, Teresa let the barest hint of a smile escape her.

"On occasion." Soon enough, Teresa refocused. "Look, Patrick needs your help."

Kristina waved her hand in the air for Teresa to stop talking.

"Let me run some tests."

Kristina blinked just like Patrick did when he used magic.

 _Boink._

A giant brown book weathered with age appeared in her hands. Blowing across the cover, a cloud of dust filled the room. She opened the book to a page in the middle and furrowed her brow. After a few minutes of study, she cast the book aside on the bed.

"Well?" asked Patrick.

Kristina tapped him on the shoulder with her hand.

"Did that hurt?" she asked.

"No. Of course it didn't."

Reaching over to the bedside table, Kristina grabbed a rubber band, stretched it between two fingers, and snapped it against the back of Patrick's hand.

"Ouch," he said as he winced.

"Did that hurt?" Kristina asked.

"Stung more than hurt," he replied.

Kristina walked over to the window and picked up a flower vase. _Crack._ Before either Patrick or Teresa could react, she smashed it over Patrick's head.

"Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. Now I can't even see straight."

Kristina blinked again.

 _Boink._

A clipboard appeared in her left hand and a pen in her right. She scribbled a few notes.

"Vase causes pain," she said to herself as she wrote. When she finished writing, she looked up at him. "For the next series of tests, I'll give you some choices. First up: Would you rather bend a steel pipe into a pretzel or drive a wooden nail into a concrete block?"

"Bend the steel pipe," said Jane.

Kristina blinked.

 _Boink._

A pipe appeared in her hands, and she gave it to him while she made further notes. After grimacing, he handed back the pipe - twisted into a pretzel.

"Next up: Would you rather cross a lion with a squirrel or a tree sloth with a cheetah?" Kristina asked him.

"Tree sloth and cheetah."

Kristina nodded for him to go ahead conjure one up.

Teresa saw Patrick furrow his brow in deep concentration.

 _Boink._

What appeared before them was the laziest-looking carnivore that Teresa had ever seen.

"Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…Grrrrrrrrrrr…Grr." The beast sounded as if it had lost all its energy from trying to growl. Sagging to the floor, it rolled onto its side and went to sleep.

"Moving on: Would you rather wrestle a grizzly bear or conjure up an old VCR copy of _Titanic_?" asked Kristina.

"How big is the bear?" he asked.

For the next half-hour, Teresa witnessed Kristina run Patrick through more and more bizarre tests. As he performed each one, Patrick seemed to lose more vitality. While Kristina scanned through her book for the final test, he slumped in a chair in the corner of the room. Kristina snapped her book shut and looked at him.

"Have you regained your strength of magic?" she asked. "Show me."

Patrick nodded then blinked.

 _Boink._

He shrank himself to the size of a thimble.

 _Boink._

He grew to the size of an elephant.

 _Boink._

Finally he returned to his normal size.

"So it would seem," he said.

Kristina cleared her throat.

"Levitate the ink pen." She pointed to the one she'd been using.

 _Boink._

The pen rose into the air.

"Levitate Teresa," she said.

 _Boink._

Teresa felt her feet leave the floor. She and Patrick exchanged smiles.

"Levitate the chair."

 _Boink._

Now the chair that Teresa had been sitting in joined her and the pen in mid-air.

"Levitate the…"

Within minutes, Patrick had lifted all the furniture in the room off the floor except for the large mahogany chest of drawers in the corner. When Teresa glanced at Patrick, she saw moisture beading on his forehead as he kept his eyes shut in concentration. Hearing the next command from Kristina drew her attention back to the woman.

"Levitate the chest of drawers," Kristina said.

"Do…I…have…to?" he asked, a strain in his voice.

"Yes," replied Kristina.

Teresa heard Patrick suck in a deep breath.

 _Boink._

The chest of drawers wobbled. It rose off the floor at a much slower pace than Teresa and the other furniture had. When Teresa looked over at him, Patrick's hands shook as sweat now plastered his clothes to his skin. Grunting noises escaped his mouth as his whole body began to shake.

Then the chest of drawers stopped rising.

 _Crash._

Teresa, the pen, and all the furniture fell to the floor with a thud. Unhurt except for where her bum bumped the linoleum, she sat on the floor. Patrick rushed over to lift her up into his arms.

"Teresa, are you alright? I'm so sorry I couldn't keep you up in the air anymore. That last piece of furniture was just too much for me to levitate."

The worry etched across his face pulled at Teresa's heartstrings. She clasped his face and brought their lips together in a kiss.

"I'm fine. Don't worry about me. My only concern now is you," she said.

"Ahem." Kristina's throat clearing got their attention as she closed the big brown book. "I've got the results." She held aloft her clipboard. "I've gone over and over these tests to be sure. That's why I had you do so many."

"Well?" asked Teresa as she felt Patrick clutch her hands in a tight grip.

"I'm sorry what I have to report." Kristina dropped the clipboard on a table. "Patrick, you're dying."

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Matty Malneck and Frank Signorelli wrote "I'll Never Be the Same," and Ella Fitzgerald recorded my favorite version on her album _Hello Love_. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic" I have also started a Tumblr account with the username "cumberland-river-relic"

Up next: Our Love Is Here To Stay


	17. Our Love Is Here to Stay

Author's notes:

 _I've wanted to use the song title, "Our Love Is Here To Stay," for a chapter in a Mentalist story for a long time._

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 17: Our Love Is Here To Stay**

* * *

"Patrick, you're dying."

Kristina Frye's words hit Teresa like a brick. Looking around at Patrick, she saw his eyes water.

"How long do I have?" he asked.

"My best guess? Several decades. It'll be a long time yet," said Kristina.

"What?" he asked. Her prognosis mystified both Patrick and Teresa.

Kristina sighed.

"Even though you shielded yourself from the worst of the rocket blast, the heat still affected you. You may not have incinerated like Red John did, but you lost your immortality." Kristina focused on Teresa. "You mentioned earlier that he caught the flu. That's because he's mortal now."

"You mean I'm…I'm…" Patrick couldn't get the words out of his mouth to complete his sentence.

"What I mean is that for all practical purposes you're a human, albeit one who still retains some magic powers," said Kristina.

"What does this mean for him day-to-day?" asked Teresa.

Kristina shrugged.

"He'll function in regular life as any healthy, normal human. Essentially, he's now your age. Judging by his good physical condition, he should have the same life span as you."

Suddenly Summer Edgecombe's medical diagnosis made sense. Patrick Jane was in excellent health - for a human being. A sense of joy flooded Teresa's heart, and she turned to him.

What she glimpsed was Patrick running out the door, looking like a frightened animal.

* * *

Where could Patrick have run off to? After a moment's reflection, Teresa bid goodbye to Kristina and hurried back home. When she got there, Teresa headed straight for the attic - and the teapot.

"Patrick. I know you're in there. I want to talk to you."

Silence.

"Patrick, I'm still here."

Silence.

"Paddy, I'm waiting."

At last a tinny voice sounded from the depths of the teapot.

"Go away, Teresa. I don't want you to see me like this."

"I want to talk to you. I _wish_ for you to talk with me."

"Ha, ha. The joke's on you. Since I'm not a genie anymore, you're no longer my mistress."

"I may not be your mistress, but I still want to talk to you."

"Leave me alone."

"Patrick, I need you. I'm gonna stand here until you blink me into your teapot. I know you still have enough magic to do that."

Silence.

"I'm waiting, Patrick."

 _Boink._

In a flash, Teresa found herself inside the teapot. Huddled in a corner, Patrick held his face in his hands. Sitting down next to him, she rubbed his shoulder.

"I don't want you to see me like this, Teresa. Please leave me alone. I'll…I'll be gone from your life soon. I'll pack up and leave."

"Why would I want you gone? Just because you're a defective genie…"

Patrick jerked his head around, and Teresa was shocked to see the cascade of tears running down his cheeks.

"You heard what Kristina said. I'm not even a _defective_ genie. I'm not a genie anymore."

She took his hands in hers.

"Yes, you're right. What you are now is a human."

"I'm _only_ human."

Teresa released Patrick's hands.

"Hey, wait a minute. _Only_ human? I'm _only_ human and have been my whole life. I should feel insulted."

In a flash, Patrick reached out to grasp Teresa's hands again.

"I'm sorry, that came out wrong."

"You think?"

"It's just that what I've wanted to do more than anything since you freed me is to make you happy. I've wanted to please you any way I could. Now I can't."

"I don't need a genie to make me happy, but I do need you."

"You don't understand how much this hurts me," he said.

"Why do you hurt, Patrick?" She brushed a strand of blond curls off his forehead.

"Because…" The look he gave her made Teresa shudder. "Because I love you, Teresa. I've loved you from the moment we met on the beach." He turned his head away from her.

Teresa reached over to turn his face back to look at her.

"I love you too, Patrick." She kissed him.

Now he started sobbing again.

"You don't know how much I've wanted to hear those words come from your lips. Now when I finally hear them, they cut my heart like a dagger."

"Why?" she asked.

"Because our bond is broken. We're no longer mistress and genie."

"You were an imperfect genie…"

"That hardly makes me feel any better," he said.

Teresa took a deep breath. She knew her next words would change her life and his.

"It's time for a new bond."

"You don't understand. We can't just go back to…"

"Marry me, Patrick Jane."

"What?"

She kissed him again.

"You were an imperfect _genie_. But you're the perfect _man_ for me."

"Okay." Patrick transformed as he fumbled his words at first. Then his eyes twinkled and he grinned. "Yes. Yes!" He shouted. He joined their lips together once more.

 _Boink._

The two of them now sat on the log bench in their backyard. And they didn't leave home for a whole day.

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

George and Ira Gershwin wrote the song known as both " _Our_ Love Is Here To Stay" and "Love Is Here To Stay." Ella Fitzgerald recorded my favorite version ("Love Is Here To Stay") on her album _Ella Fitzgerald Sings the George and Ira Gershwin Songbook_. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic" I have also started a Tumblr account with the username "cumberland-river-relic"

Up next: Come Fly With Me


	18. Come Fly With Me

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Chapter 18: Come Fly With Me**

* * *

 _ **News story from the online edition of The International Tribune-Journal:**_

 _ **Headline: Hero Astronaut Lisbon to Blast Off For Space Station, Marries**_

 _ **Story:**_

 _Newly-promoted GSA Director Virgil Minelli announced at a press conference today that astronaut Teresa Lisbon would pilot a special solo mission to the GSA's space station to replace defective solar panels. Lisbon gained fame when she diverted the path of the Volker 516 comet away from earth. Standing beside Minelli, Lisbon herself then confirmed widespread rumors of her recent marriage and introduced her new husband, a Mr. Patrick Jane, to reporters. Little is known about Jane, although an anonymous source within the space agency described Jane as a "distant relative of Lisbon's." When asked about his own plans while his new wife is in orbit, Jane said only that he would travel out-of-town until Lisbon returns home._

 _Also at the news conference, GSA Chief of Security General Dennis Abbott announced that his investigation into the deaths of former GSA Director Thomas MacAllister and launch pad manager Gale Bertram had concluded. Abbott ruled their deaths an accident, citing evidence that they had gone to check out the Crimson Flame booster rocket and by mistake hit the test-firing switch. The resulting blast incinerated MacAllister and Bertram. "All of us were saddened about Thomas MacAllister and Gale Bertram, but it's good to find out the truth," Abbott told reporters. After his statement, he took no questions and the news conference concluded._

* * *

 _One day later…_

Grace Van Pelt and Virgil Minelli huddled beside a secure console in a back office at GSA mission control while they watched a screen with the image of Teresa Lisbon on board the space station.

"…and sensors say that fuel levels are full, oxygen levels are within the target range, and your vital signs are all normal," said Grace as she recited a status list to Teresa. "Everything looks good from here. How's it look from your end?"

"Beautiful. I dismantled the three sections of MacAllister's laser cannon and deleted its operating system."

"Just remember to refer to all of that as defective solar panels on the public channel, Teresa," said Minelli as he chuckled.

"Will-do, Boss. I'm gonna take my twelve-hour break now."

"A well-deserved rest if you ask me," said Minelli. Then he glanced down at the console in front of him. "What's going on, Teresa? According to the readings down here, you took off all your medical sensors."

"I did. I just want some 'me-time,' some privacy. Don't worry, I'll switch back on in 12 hours."

"Young lady that's highly unorthodox. It violates all our protocols to…" said Minelli as his voice trailed off.

On screen, Grace saw Teresa crook her eyebrow and cross her arms.

"Virgil, I've earned it, don't you think?" Teresa asked.

Minelli nodded.

"Yes, you have." He waved his hand. "See you in twelve hours."

With that, Minelli rose from his chair, patted Grace on the shoulder, and left the room. After the door closed behind him, Grace turned her attention back to the screen.

"So how does it feel to be married now, Teresa?"

"Great."

"Wayne offered to relay any messages you want to Patrick," said Grace.

"He doesn't need to. Besides, Wayne couldn't find him. Patrick really did mean it when he said he was going to do some traveling while I'm in space."

"This seems so unfair to you, Teresa - going on this mission when you should be down here on your honeymoon."

"Don't worry about me. Or Patrick."

Grace sighed.

"You two deserve better after all you've been through."

"Everything is fine. I'm gonna fix a cup of tea before I turn in." Teresa got a peculiar smile on her face. "I'll contact you again in the morning."

"See ya then," said Grace.

While Grace was switching off the screen, she saw Teresa rub the side of her teapot. How long had Grace been sitting at the console? Too long because her eyes were surely playing tricks on her. As the image of Teresa aboard the space station began to fade out, Grace thought she saw a swirl of blue mist rising out of the teapot.

* * *

 _ **To be continued**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Jimmy Van Heusen and Sammy Cahn wrote "Come Fly With Me," and the song is closely associated with Frank Sinatra. Laura Dickinson recorded a favorite version of mine on her album _One For My Baby - To Frank Sinatra With Love_. Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic" I have also started a Tumblr account with the username "cumberland-river-relic"

 _ **The story ends perfectly well here; however, if you would like a little something extra, an epilogue follows. It's title? "You Can Do Magic."**_


	19. You Can Do Magic

Author's notes:

Thank you to great writers and friends _**Sue Shay**_ and _**make-mine-a-kiaora**_ for their read-throughs and the opportunity to learn from them. I've favorited both of them in my profile and encourage you to read their stories.

I do not own the TV show _The Mentalist_ or _I Dream of Jeannie_ and get no compensation from it. This story is written purely for entertainment purposes only.

* * *

 **Epilogue: You Can Do Magic**

* * *

 _Two years later…_

Teresa and Patrick busied themselves around the nursery as their baby goo-gooed in a happy reverie. In the past two years, Teresa had never known such bliss. Every day brought some new joy, whether from Patrick or their son.

"Looks like Charlie has settled down now," said Patrick as he glanced at their baby.

"Finally. He fidgets around so much he reminds me of you," said Teresa, the lilt in her voice conveying the lightness of her words. She reached her arm around Patrick's waist to hug him.

Her husband returned the hug with a smile but then got a glum look on his face.

"That scares me. The more he takes after you and the less he takes after me, the better I'll feel, Teresa." He looked at baby Charlie again. "Do you think he'll take a nap now?"

"Let's leave him alone and see if he goes to sleep," she said.

Arm-in-arm the couple walked to the doorway of the nursery. As Teresa dimmed the lights, they both turned back to glance at their son one more time. Charlie raised his right hand and pointed at the table next to his cradle. Patrick and Teresa had forgotten and left his favorite teddy bear, "Mr. Wylie," sitting on it. Before they could go back to get it for him, Charlie blinked.

 _Boink._

The teddy bear rose, floated through the air, and came to rest in Charlie's arms. He giggled and went to sleep.

Teresa froze. After a moment, she looked at her husband. His mouth ajar and his brow furrowed by worry, he stood motionless.

"About our son taking after you, Patrick…"

* * *

 _ **The End**_

* * *

Author's notes:

Thank you for reading the story, and I'd love to hear from you.

Written by Russ Ballard, the pop-rock group America recorded the song "You Can Do Magic." Want to find out more about the songs used as chapter titles? Check out my Twitter account - "TheCRRelic" I have also started a Tumblr account with the username "cumberland-river-relic"


End file.
